Home
by Warner Stories
Summary: Under unique circumstances, a young woman launches herself from one reality into another, only this one has blue aliens, cows that stand on two legs, and a purple travel guide with pointed ears and an attitude. Earth to Azeroth crossover. Rated M for (eventual) strict sexual content and excessive language.
1. Chapter 1: Guardian Alien

_This is a crossover (Earth to Azeroth) fanfiction. I own nothing in this story but the names and personalities of my own characters._

 _You may find that you don't recognize certain geographical locations mentioned here; this is likely because I've added them in. The zones in WOW would have to be far larger and more complex to encompass the sheer size of an actual thriving, populated planet such as Azeroth, and are simply reduced for the sake of gameplay. In the story, however, there is more land, and with that land comes more towns and settlements. I know this is probably obvious to most of you, but I wanted to clarify.  
_

* * *

The torrential rain tonight is falling in sheets.

No, let me rephrase.

It's lashing, a severe, horizontal whip, with fat droplets that feel like beestings through my jacket. Also it doesn't help that I am on my bike going sixty down the highway, and I still have twenty miles to go. The only upside to this situation is that the light on my vehicle catches the raindrops and makes me feel like I am in outer space, boosting into hyperdrive and watching all the stars before me whoosh past.

 _Focus on the road, Ava. Stay within your lane._

There are no cars around, though. It's pitch black, raining, cold, and I'm soaked into my boots. The forecast this morning had said clear skies.

 _Hah._

Lightning strikes at random intervals here and there, sometimes close enough to follow with an immediate explosion of thunder that chills me further. I'm not afraid of much, but ever since I was a child and I saw my brother Isaac's hair stand on end only seconds before we both were knocked unconscious, well, I've been a bit easily spooked by massive uncontrollable flashes of energy. I've read somewhere that getting struck once improves one's chances of being struck again, and I'm not thrilled to be out offering myself to the lightning gods. I don't care how hot Thor is.

Up ahead I finally see a source of light other than my own bike, but it's off the side of the road, and it's coming up fast. Red taillights, flashing blinkers, and I realize someone's crashed into the ditch. A small voice in my head tells me to slow down, to make sure everything is alright. But it is, after all, a small voice, and I don't listen. I'm way too soaked and grumpy to even think about slowing down until I see my own apartment.

Moments later I wish that voice had been louder. It's only in the last second, right as I reach the blinkers, that I see a person standing in the middle of my lane with his arms waving for help. I brake hard, my tires screeching and then locking, sliding across the wet road as I attempt to swerve. It's strange. I don't scream or shout like they all do in movies; it's like my body forgot to respond emotionally and has put all its energy into preserving itself. I'm straight-faced as I see the dumb-ass in the road jump out of the way, and I think I'm in the clear, relief hitting me for a quarter of a second before the unthinkable happens.

Lightning, a giant, bright pillar that lasts only an instant in my eyes, crackles into the power lines to my left, tendrils snaking down to the ground, into the road, right in front of me. The explosive crack that follows is so loud I can feel the sound in my bones.

Now I do shriek, voice popping three octaves too high as my muscles lock up and I buzz full throttle into the electric volt, bike keeping her momentum. Something about that last second, that last glimpse of my life as I am certain it's about to end, is odd. Whether it is the way the lightning catches the rain or the road or maybe my own bike, I see my world erupt into bright neon colors that flicker from one to the next, cycling through so quickly I can barely process them.

I feel a jerk in my feet, a weird pop in my spine, and sudden nausea attack me from all sides, just as the world comes back into view. I'm still on a road, but it's so dark again that I can barely see. The rain has stopped instantly, and I notice that the ground that rushes past beneath my bike is nothing but dirt and stone path. I must have swerved completely off-road.

As if all of that hasn't been enough, as I'm barreling forward, I see someone walking ten feet ahead of me, right in my way.

I brake again, still speeding faster than I should be over the bumpy terrain, but not soon enough. With a shout of warning, I swerve again and tumble past him, clipping him with a handlebar and flying off the path, right smack dab into a cluster of trees.

I'm knocked off my bike. My head clonks against a tree, and then I land hard on my elbow, so hard I hear a crack and feel it a second later. I roll over with an inward gasp, clutching my arm to my ribs.

My head. My arm. My ARM. Fucking _ow_.

I hear the guy I almost hit shouting something, and it sounds like he's angry, but I can't really tell what he's saying, and I don't care. He's completely fine, as opposed to my broken goddamned elbow.

 _Ow_.

I scoot backward and make a partially-successful attempt to stand up, but I start to careen when my head swims and my feet feel weightless.

 _Ow_.

I feel two _massive_ hands plant themselves on me, one on my shoulder and the other sort of on my upper back, and I immediately whip around, still dizzy with pain and confusion. My eyes lock onto one of the oddest, most disturbing faces I've ever seen. Glowing, whitish eyes are staring at mine from only a foot and a half away, and with that light I can make out his sharp features; he's a giant, purplish-skinned man with thick purple hair and huge, long pointed ears like nothing I have ever known.

"Christ-!" I hiss in shock, stumbling backward and toppling onto the ground with a poorly-timed misstep. The jarring throws intense pain rocketing through my arm, and I groan deeply again, the pain now resonating through my fingers, up my shoulder, into my chest. Throbbing, aching, on fire.

This is it. I got struck by lightning. I'm dead. Either I'm dead, or I've ruined my brain. That's the only explanation for what I'm seeing right now. He's an alien, right? Or maybe he's the guy who was in the road in the first place. Maybe my head or eyes are fucked up and making me see him weird.

My arm's hurting like a bitch, but I look at the alien. He's got his hands on his head like he's freaking out about something, pacing around in circles, and then he bends over and picks up a shitty old brown bag and opens it to look inside. I hear him saying something angrily, but I can't tell what the words are. He pulls out a broken bit of porcelain that looks like it used to be part of a china teapot, with the spout attached. His freaky silver eyes dart right to mine, and I hear him growl under his breath as he holds it out toward me accusingly.

The language he's speaking is unrecognizable, a smooth string of soft syllables despite the frustration packed behind each one, and then he chucks the broken teapot to the ground. I might not understand his words, but I know what he's saying, and I feel blood boil into my face. He might not look or talk much like a human, but he certainly acts like one, and his obviously-aggressive actions are pissing me off.

"Are you kidding me?" I force myself to stand, clutching my arm, my anger fueled by my pain. "You're pissed about a broken _teapot_?" I stomp toward him two steps, but don't come too close. I know know that I am going crazy, screeching at a giant purple man while my arm is obviously broken. "A TEAPOT? Oh, sure! Heaven forbid you worry about the soaked, concussed girl who you just drove off the fucking road! Who cares about your cups, I've a broken arm and no health insurance!" I point at him, "This is all _your fault_! If you hadn't been in the middle of the-"

He interrupts me with a loud, angry phrase, pointing at the teapot, and then rubs his thumb and forefinger together, and waves that hand dismissively. He turns away from me, grumbling to himself, and I take a chance to gather my surroundings.

It's so dark I can barely see a thing, especially under the cover of the trees, but I'm thankful it stopped raining. I can hear crickets and other creepy crawlies singing so loudly it disorients me. How did they pick up so quickly after the rain quit? Not to mention, how did the temperature rise what feels like ten degrees in the past minute?

He's still talking weird, complaining about something according to his sharp tone of voice, and I roll my eyes and start looking for my purse. I need to find my phone. I can see my completely totaled bike steaming against a tree trunk, and the sight hurts me more than I hurt already.

I can't find my purse anywhere, and I stand up tall again and look at the guy.

"May I use your phone?" I ask sharply. "Mine's in my bag, and that's nowhere to be found through all this stupid-" I pause as I bat away the leaves of what looks like a giant fern. A fern? This big, in the American Pacific, in late autumn?

Through my situational confusion, I somehow clearly see my bag about three inches from my right boot. Momentary relief hits me as I scoop it by the strap and jam my good hand in, rifling through and finding my smartphone. The light is so bright when I unlock it, it hurts my eyes, and I immediately turn the brightness all the way down.

Any relief I did have is lost when I see through the cracked screen a small grey 'x' in place of the signal bars.

So. I'm likely gone into shock, stuck in some woods by a highway in the middle of the night with an angry alien teapot man and a broken arm. Not to mention my poor bike. Tonight is the best.

"I'm going to find some signal. You and your pot have a nice...whatever," I grunt, clutching my phone and stumbling through the trees toward where I believe the road is.

My arm is swelling in my sleeve, and it hurts so bad that my breath catches sharply with each step, no matter how lightly I try to walk. I haven't let anything catch up with me yet, not emotionally, other than frustration and anger and adrenaline. And of course pain. So maybe I have let a lot of things hit me, but not fear. Or rationality, of course.

The ground foliage and brush is so thick that I can barely tromp through it. One would think I'd have cleared a little way with my bike, but apparently not. I see light catching the bark on the trees around me and stumble through them, hoping that the person in the car by the highway has a functioning phone.

Come to think of it, he probably doesn't, else he wouldn't be wandering out into the middle of the road in the first place. What _is_ it with people tonight?

I push through a wall of thick leaves and stumble forward, eyes meeting something they didn't expect to. A campfire, loud and crackling, illuminates the entire area, the last thing I anticipated when searching for a highway. It's surrounded by more forest, which alarms me. The treeline by the highway is only about half an acre thick at best, as far as I knew, but this looks like it goes on forever.

I see a few people, though, and they've all frozen and are staring right at me. They're normal-looking, too, which relieves me. Maybe a little rough, maybe could use a shave, but they're human beings. And they're not purple. To be honest, they remind me of the guys I worked with on laying a pipeline for thirteen months last year. I feel more at home with people like this than most.

"Oh thank god," I stumble in, breathing out heavily in relief. "Do any of you have a phone I could borrow? I crashed my bike and my arm is-!" I don't finish my sentence.

I gulp as I feel a hand grab my hair and see a gigantic knife glinting at my throat in a matter of a second. Pain sears through my entire arm and shoulder, and even into my ribs, due to the odd movement.

I hear a deep, hissing voice growl something unintelligible in my ear, and I freeze. It's definitely not a warm welcome.

"Woah, woah," I breathe cautiously, heart pumping now. "Hold on, I swear I'm completely alone. I just need your help. Nothing funny about this. I'm hurt. Badly hurt. Please. I can...I can pay you, whatever's in my wallet, I don't care. I just need help."

More foreign words are spoken in my ear. They sound like questions, but I have no answers, and I don't respond. The voice at my ear repeats its question once more. I shake my head.

"I don't know what you're saying."

A second passes, and then I hear a chuckle. The knife moves under my chin and lifts my head to expose my neck further, and I swallow hard. If my arm didn't hurt so horribly, I might try something. I've been in similar situations before. Not exactly, not like this, but I know how to take care of myself. I'm strong, physically, too. But...not when I'm injured.

The man holding me hostage grumbles something and unloops my bag from my shoulder, and he chucks it to one of his buddies. The action jostles me, and I grunt as my arm throbs.

Then the guy does something super creepy. He grabs my wet hair and smells it, and then he laughs, shouting something to his friends. I don't know what language he's speaking. Russian, maybe? I wish I'd taken more foreign language in high school. I yank my head away from his hand, and he just tightens his fingers into the black locks and yanks back. I feel my heart drop into my stomach.

His friends laugh. The one with my bag turns the whole thing upside down and dumps it on the ground. I still have my phone clutched in my hand, but anything else I had with me is there on the dirt by the fire: wallet, makeup, granola bar, loose change, raspberry mint chewing gum, emergency tampons, hand lotion, pepper spray, ibuprofen, spare keys, phone charger, bits of paper trash, and a mini flashlight. Usual stuff, right? Nothing they'll want, except for the money.

"Take what you want," I say carefully, head still angled with the knife at my neck, and I silently slide my phone in my jean pocket.

The man grabs my waist and pushes me forward, and I stumble into the camp. My foot catches on a root, and I trip onto my knees, choking again at the pain this causes. I've landed dangerously close to the fire, and I feel the heat uncomfortably on my neck and face. All four men start laughing, and as three of them pick through the contents of my purse, the one that had the knife on me turns me around, and I catch sight of his face. He has a lot of ruddy brown hair and a thick beard, dirt on his nose, and leather clothing that practically looks like it's been stitched with thin rope. He runs the knife along my face and says more Russian. I'm so lost, and I don't know what he wants from me.

Behind him, I catch faint movement between two trees, and my eyes flick there. As they adjust, I realize I've been followed.

Standing with his arms folded and a scowl on his face, I see that purple alien man's glowy eyes first, and then everything else. My heart drops; until this point, I had convinced myself I'd made him up. Something is really wrong with me. I've never hallucinated before, but this is so vivid and makes me more than uncomfortable.

He looks inconvenienced at best, maybe a little bored, but at the same time I catch the way his eyes darken as he looks at the Russian guys. He doesn't like them, but he isn't doing a thing about it. None of the men around me notice him.

I don't know who I'd rather be with less, but the more I think about it, the more I want to escape from the people holding a knife to my neck. Muggers or aliens? Let's go with the imaginary one.

My mind is racing as I'm trying to come up with an escape. My bike is totaled. My arm is useless. My head is pounding from where I hit the trees, and I'm on my knees with a knife on my carotid. I can only hope they'll just take my things and leave me alone, but with the way this bearded guy leers at me, that doesn't seem likely.

Surprisingly, he pulls away his knife and sheaths it at his crude belt. I peer up at him in confusion, remaining still as stone, watching to see what he'll do. He jams a finger at me and grunts a word, glaring into my eyes intensely. I have no idea what he said. I return with a blank stare.

He says it again, "Stat." He holds up a closed palm.

I shrug my shoulders at him. "Stat," I respond back, wondering if that'll do anything. I can sort of tell what he means, though. He wants me to stay where I am.

He sighs, pointing at the ground where I'm kneeling. "Stat." He points to his own knife as a threat. Then he turns around and reaches into a big backpack of his, rummaging through it. The other three men are five feet away, and when I realize there's no one to hold or even watch me, I make a meager attempt to rise to my feet.

Before I can even get one leg up, the guy turns at the sound of my shuffling, and he growls. "Stat!" He produces from the bag what looks like a length of old rope. I feel a lump form in my throat in dread as he walks over and grabs my good arm, pulling it behind my back. He's going to tie my hands behind my back. He's going to grab my broken arm and wrench it into an unnatural position, and keep it that way.

I give a cry of terror and shake my head, dodging away from his hand as he tries to grab my broken forearm. He grunts in annoyance and grabs again, this time catching my wrist. More forcefully than necessary, he tugs it behind my back, and I shriek in pain, loudly enough that the other three guys look up from where they've been poring over my stuff and chatting. It's as if they've never seen chewing gum. Or tampons.

The pain becomes so strong that all I can do is give a broken, deep groan as he tightens the rope around my wrists. I realize now that this is the kind of stuff you see on the news, the horror stories of people found cut to pieces at the bottom of a lake. They don't care that I'm in extreme pain. They don't care about my money either, clearly. I have no idea what to do, and I feel completely numb. I can't even feel fear right now, I don't think. I'm just numb, save for the awful, horrid pain in my arm that's spreading to the rest of me.

"Please don't," I say, my voice far quieter than I meant it to be. I feel like I'm about to pass out from the pain alone. My thoughts are scattering. "P-pl-"

Suddenly I hear a cushioned 'whump' behind me, and the man is no longer binding my hands. The three guys in front of me stand up in alarm, shouting all at once, but I can barely look up. I do, however, catch sight of the purple alien in their midst, and he appears to be the source of their clamor.

Now I really feel alarmed. My hallucination is beating up real, live human beings. He's an entire foot, maybe two, taller than all of them, and although they seem fairly capable of fighting, they have nothing on the purple man. Even when one of the humans produces a knife, it's knocked from his hands a moment later. It's all a blur right now, but soon enough, all four men are lying prone on the forest floor around the campfire, and the alien kneels down next to me.

Up until now, I've still felt like I've imagined him. Something else, something more reasonable, must be happening. My head is putting these images in that reasonable thing's place because I have a head injury, and I'm in shock from my pain.

Then I feel his bare hands on the skin of my wrists when he unties the rope. I feel warmth, life, from his hands. I can smell some sort of musky, earthy, pine-like scent coming from him now that he's so close.

This guy, whether he's purple or not, is real. He's real, and he very well may have just saved me from being a headline. The rope slackens, and my arm shifts. I immediately tense up, breath hitching in a strangled cry, any warm feelings toward him whisking away as my attention falls on myself again.

He holds up one finger to get my attention, looking me straight in the eyes. His are still glowing brightly behind dark purple lashes. And then he says that word.

"Stat," he says, his voice grumbly. Then he follows with a string of more words I don't know. He gets up and walks to the other side of the campfire, and I see him pick up that burlap brown bag of his that held the broken teapot. He reaches inside and pulls out a tiny object, and brings it to me. It looks like a little bottle of reddish perfume or something, corked and in a glass vial. He uncorks it, and I catch a whiff of mint and green tea. He hands it to me, and I stare at him without accepting it.

"What?" I ask reluctantly.

He says more weird words. I simply stare, so he points at his mouth and then hands it to me, pointing at my mouth. I take it with my good hand. He motions for me to tip it back and drink it like a shot glass.

I smell it. It smells...healthy enough, if a bit strong on the tea side. And who knows why it's red.

He urges me to drink it again, and I huff.

"If you think I'm going to-"

He reaches out and lifts the glass and my hand together to my face, and I have to put it to my mouth to keep it from spilling. It's second nature, and I don't think about it until a drop of it touches my tongue. I can't taste the drop.

"Fine. Fine! Not the weirdest thing to happen to me tonight," I grumble, and I down the liquid. It's strong. Really strong, not at all like the plainness I thought it would be. Bitter at first, then horribly sweet, and then it gets this weird mixture of minty cold and tingling. I can feel it go down, the mint. It chills my stomach behind my ribs, and then the cold spreads.

Suddenly, my headache vanishes. That awful pounding, that annoying ache, lifts out of nowhere, and I inhale sharply.

"Oh!" I gasp, and then notice that my arm doesn't hurt so bad either. I start to lift it, to straighten it out, but alien man jumps in and stops me, shaking his head frantically with his brows arched in alarm. He stares at me like I'm an idiot, and then reaches into his bag and pulls out a roll of thick cloth. Carefully, he bends my arm at a slightly-acute angle and wraps the cloth from my arm, up over my neck, then back down, like a sling. He does that a few times up and down my forearm until it's snug, and he ties it off.

One of the unconscious men nearby shifts, and my savior glances his way, then looks back at me. He asks me a question - very obviously a question due to his inflection - and I stare at him plainly.

"I have no idea what you are saying," I apologize. I feel like a broken record at this point, and I can't believe I'm talking to a hallucination. Then again, if he's a hallucination, who gave me this sling? He's very obviously a normal guy, and I'm just seeing him weird. I'll get that checked when we make it to the hospital. Concussions can do weird things to your vision, right?

The corners of his angular jaw jump as he grits his teeth, clearly frustrated with my inability to understand him. He leaves my side and kneels down next to my satchel where all my things are scattered. He scoops everything up and shoves it in the bag, and then comes back. With no warning, he pulls me up, with little resistance on my part. His gigantic hand still wrapped around my wrist, he pulls me back through the brush and ferns, away from the unconscious campers. Suddenly we're back at my bike and the broken pieces of his teapot, which he takes a long, negative glance at before looking at me again.

He points at me, his eyebrows arching in a question, and waits.

"Hm?" my voice is quiet, almost inaudible, but he definitely hears me.

He pauses, and then puts his thumb to his chest. "Fyr," he says, and then points at me inquiringly.

"Fear?" I squint my eyes in confusion. He nods. I blink. "You're afraid?"

A moment of hesitation passes, obviously because he's trying to understand my question. He places his entire palm on his chest. "Eranu'noma Fyr," he pats himself once, and then points at me again. "Anu'noma...?"

He is calling himself Fear? That's a bit pretentious, yeah?

"Ava," I point to myself.

"Ava." He nods once, and then points at the broken teapot on the ground. He rubs his fingers together over his thumb, the universal sign for currency, and says a few more slippery gibberish words before I hear my name again. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a weird silver coin that looks like it was fashioned by hand, shows it to me, and puts it back.

"Oh. You want me to _pay_ for your teapot?" I say, my temper flaring up again. I'm not currently in any pain anymore thanks to whatever he fed me, and I should be thankful toward him. But he clearly only has one agenda, and that is getting his money's worth for whatever that thing meant to him. He didn't give me that analgesic from the kindness of his heart. "You're not getting a goddamned penny from me, Buster. I need to find my way home. Or better, to a hospital. No thanks to you."

He picks up on my attitude straight away, and those glowing eyes of his narrow into slits. His shoulders square as he takes a deep breath and lets it out in the form of an annoyed growl.

Suddenly, everything hits me at once. I look around me. These trees, this wooded area, is nothing close to the kind of trees beside the highway. The smell, the weather, the temperature, all of it, is different. Something is very wrong.

Then I look back at the man in front of me. 'Til now, I'd been seeing him through this weird shield, a means of blocking out the fact that he's not exactly...human. Now, I look at him plainly. It's not a hallucination. It's not in my head. I can see every little detail and feature on his face, the glow from his eyes that illuminates little buttons on his clothing, everything. He is as real as real gets right now.

That settles it. Whoever this man is, he is not human. And wherever I am, I am no longer twenty miles from home. And taking into consideration everything I've seen until now, with whatever happened in that road, with getting struck by lightning, I realize I may not have been as lucky as when I was a kid.

I'm dead. I'm dead, or I was abducted by aliens. This is real. I have no idea where I am.

I gasp hard, sucking air into my lungs suddenly and then releasing it just as quickly. Then I repeat the action again and again, breathing deeply and quickly and out-of-control as the reality of everything happening to me fully sinks in. My frantic eyes, as I hyperventilate, meet the alien's, and I see that he looks legitimately concerned.

"...Ava," he says in alarm, then follows with more alien words I don't know. Him saying my name throws me into a full panic, and I stumble backward to escape him, feeling dizzy and weak all of a sudden.

"I d-don-don't u-und-understand wh-wh-" I try to talk, but I can't stop panicking, and suddenly my thoughts go fuzzy. I hear static, my vision goes dark, and the world slips away as my head feels so light it might float away.

* * *

It's Christmas Eve. I'm six years old, hiding underneath the decorated tree in our living room, surrounded by the smell of pine and sap. There's a box with my name on it. It's big, half as big as me, and wrapped in yellow and pink wrapping paper, with elephants in the design. There's a white bow on top, and I feel the urge to sneak a peek at what's underneath the wrapping. I learned last year how to open my presents without ruining the wrapping or the tape. I could do it. No one can see me right now. I can't wait 'til tomorrow, that's forever away.

I slide my finger under the fold of the paper at one end, carefully pulling the adhesive away from the surface, slowly enough that it won't tear the top layer of wrapping.

"Ava Warner!"

Every muscle in my body stiffens in surprise. My father's voice is like thunder every time he talks, and especially when he catches me doing something I shouldn't be. He's a sheriff; keeping order is in his nature. I freeze in place, hoping he didn't actually see me. Maybe he's just trying to find me, and he'll move to another room...

"Ava, I see you under there," he chides, dashing my hopes. "Put that back. Wait until morning." He sounds tired, and I peek from under the tree needles at his face. His blue eyes have dark circles in the pale skin beneath them.

Then I hear my mother's voice. "Come out of there, little elf, I want to tell you a story." Her Indian accent is always stronger when she is tired.

I scoot forward reluctantly, squeezing out from under the lush white pine. Mom is wearing her work scrubs. She works at a hospital, and she's on call tonight. She's currently pulling her long jet black wavy hair into a tight ponytail, and I meander toward her sheepishly, twirling my own black curls in one nervous hand.

"A story?"

"About a girl who fell down a rabbit hole," she twists her hair tie into place. She keeps speaking, but suddenly I can't tell what she's saying.

Her voice becomes muffled, and the memory fades. The scent of the Christmas tree lingers, though, and I hold onto it, there in the darkness with a muffled, unintelligible conversation taking place around me. I feel snug, comfortable, and warm, surrounded by the cozy scent of pine.

Then I feel myself start moving. I feel footsteps, but they are not mine. I'm being carried.

My eyes open to slits. All I see is a dusky, warm light coming from behind me and catching the edges of what look like trees surrounding me, towering far above and blocking out the stars, except for faint peeking light through foliage. My face is mushed against something hard and warm. I shift, and realize my mouth is open and I'm drooling out the side. I close it and try to absentmindedly wipe the drool off without the use of my hands, all the while trying to find out where I am.

I'm sitting on something. Lying on something, secured somehow.

No, I'm lying against some _one_ , held in the same way a person would prop a child on one's hip. That hard, warm thing against my face is a shoulder. That pine scent is coming from the shoulder's owner. I note that this is a nice shoulder, connected to a nice, toned arm, and that nice arm is wrapped around my lower waist, holding me snug.

I'm secure. I don't remember the last time I've felt it quite like this.

There's a voice right there by my ear, unintelligible. Masculine. Deep, warm, rolling. I can feel it resonate from the person holding me, quiet and rich. I hear another voice behind me, also male. Not quite as pleasant, though.

I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn my head, opening my eyes just in time to see a guy standing there in a robe. He's middle-aged, with silvery-grey hair mixed with ginger red in both his hair and his thick beard. I blink hard once, twice, trying to bring his features into focus better, but my vision is groggy. He lifts one hand toward my face, and I'm too slow to respond. I'm pretty sure I see his fingertips glowing, but before I can react to that, I'm stunned by the brightest blinding light I've ever seen. My entire vision erupts in a flash, and I feel like it's just seared through my eyes and into my brain.

I start to swear up and down, every expletive I know escaping my lips, and next I know, whoever's holding me has dropped me on the ground. I land hard on my butt. I don't know if it's in response to the bright light, or to the words coming out of my mouth, but either way, it pisses me off further, and my voice rises in volume. One of my arms is still restrained in a sling, but the other one props itself against the ground for balance.

My vision returns shortly, and as soon as I see who I'm shouting at for dropping me, my words freeze on my tongue. It's the alien, the one who calls himself 'Fear'. He's the one who was holding me. He has a strange look on his face; it's the least-negative one he's given me all night, a combination of amusement and surprise. Beside him is the robed guy, and behind both of them is a shoddy building.

"Didn't intend to drop her," the alien mutters to the man next to him, and my eyes widen as a chill runs down my spine at hearing him speak and understanding what he says.

I gulp, and my stare darts around as I try to understand my surroundings. I realize there's not just that one building, but rather many, more like a small village. We are on the side of a wide street, on which there are creatures much more alarming than the purple alien. One woman looks like she's eight feet tall, and she has hooves. And she's blue. And I'm pretty sure I see a tail. No one is even reacting to her, not even the occasional humans walking beside her. I see more aliens like Mister 'Fear', but they're varied in colors. Some have pale skin that's almost white. Others are bluer, pinker, greener...

Then I see something that makes the hair on my arms stand straight.

"That's a cow on two legs," I breathe to myself, my eyes like saucers. "There's a cow wearing clothing."

"Oof," the robed, red-headed man in front of me laughs. "I wouldn't say that within earshot, lass. He'll have your hide."

"I do think he'd prefer 'bull' over 'cow'," the purple alien chuckles. "Or more likely, judging by the state of his armor, perhaps 'Sir' might fit him best."

My eyes flick back to him. "How can I understand you?"

"Courtesy of yours truly," the ginger man reaches out a hand to me, offering to help me stand. "Ferris Conley, magician and linguist, at your service."

Wary, I don't take it. 'Fear' simply nods toward Ferris as if to say, 'take the hand.' His arms are folded as he watches.

Ferris is still waiting on me. I ultimately grab his hand with my good arm, and he hoists me to my feet. My eyes are still wide. I'm trying to think logically.

These people aren't hostile. They're speaking to me, trying to relate. I can communicate, now.

"Where am I?" I ask, my voice cracking in the middle of the question.

'Fear' looks at Ferris, then back at me. "Feralas."

'What?" my eyebrows tighten in confusion and nonrecognition.

"Camp Illisir, Lower Wilds, Feralas, Southern Kalimdor..." he lists off, slowing as my face remains blank and alarmed.

"Send me back," I blurt.

"Pardon?"

"Send me back home. You...you've abducted me. Send me back t-to Earth." I can't help but feel a little ridiculous hearing those words come from my mouth, but at the same time, I am entirely positive now that I've been abducted by this alien. That would explain those neon lights when the lightning struck...right?

"Earth?" Ferris tilts his head. "Are you a worm? A badger? A burrower?" I realize he's mocking me when he laughs. 'Fear' laughs, too. Then Ferris folds his arms amicably. "Last person Fyr carried into town was dragged by his belt buckle. You should feel lucky, Lass."

"Listen," 'Fear' interrupts, offering Ferris an amicable smirk, then looking at me with none of that friendliness. "Ava, you can scurry back to your earthen tunnels as soon as I've been compensated for the glassware and reward for its retrieval, both of which you've cost me with your childish game of 'leap-frog' gone wrong."

"Leap-frog?" I make a face of confusion.

"Only thing I can think of involving an attempt to launch one's self over another person, which you attempted on me while riding that hideous mechanical contraption."

I feel blood rush into my ears with my frustration at hearing an insult toward my bike, but I bottle it down and take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and look him square in the eye. "I don't know where I am. I don't know _what_ you are. I am injured and lost and tired; you're acting like I did something to you, like I took something from you, intentionally or otherwise. You're wrong. I've never seen anything like this place, like you, like that lady with hooves over there, in my life." I point at the blue woman who has made her way almost out of sight.

'Fear' glances where I pointed, and he tilts his head, eyes narrowing. "How hard did you bash your head on that tree, woman?"

"Really fucking hard," I grumble, feeling a throb in my skull at his words.

Both he and Ferris lift their eyebrows.

"Colorful vocabulary you pack behind that tongue of yours, human," 'Fear' smirks. For a second, I think I see admiration, but I can't tell. But it's gone before I can guess again, replaced with a cocky smirk. "Where was that attitude when your bandit friends had you ambushed? All bark and no bite, eh, badger?"

I flare my nostrils, but say no more. What a dick.

'Fear' straightens his spine and changes his stance, cocking his head at me. "All right. Down to business, now. I do need paid for what you've cost me, Ava."

"I don't owe you a goddamned thing." My heart pounds as it always does when I'm confrontational.

Ferris laughs at this point and excuses himself, exiting into the building near us.

"Really?" 'Fear' counters. "What about your life, mm? Those were Blackhand thugs. They don't mess around. I was surprised you weren't dead when I followed you to their camp. Stupidest move I've ever seen, walking right into the middle of them."

"They seemed interested in something other than killing me," I say, lip curling just barely in disgust.

"You are quite lucky I was there."

"Oh, that's the word for it?" I gripe. Part of me feels bad for not expressing gratitude. He does have a point. But he also wants my money.

'Fear' sighs with clear frustration, returning to his point. "Payment, woman. That glassware set was worth just under eighteen gold. The draenei missing it will be far from thrilled to hear that it's been shattered, and I will not be paid by him, thanks to you."

"I have no idea what the fuck half of that means."

He gives me a look when I swear. Unimpressed, this time around. "You can play a fool all you want, but you can't fool me; you're far too clean-cut and well-dressed to not possess the wealth I demand. You cannot weasel your way out of this."

"Sorry to break it to you, Buddy, but I'm not from here. I don't have your...currency. I've never held gold in my life. I've never heard of 'Fellaris' or 'Blackhand thugs' or 'dran-eye'. And I've never ever seen anyone like you before. What the hell are you? You're not human, that's obvious."

"Astute observation, dimwit; I'm a bloody night elf," he snaps at me, but he stops himself, furrows his brows like he's thinking to himself, and folds his arms. "All right, then, what's in your bag that's worth something to me?"

"Nothing with an exchange rate as high as gold," I grumble, and glare at him, gripping my bag. "And no, you're not touching any of my things." I hesitate. "Aren't elves supposed to be tiny and cute and festive and _not_ purple? If anything, you're an overgrown Smurf. No, wait, those are blue..." I trail off, scrunching my eyebrows.

He blinks a couple times, face screwing in confusion as he stares at me. From the way he's looking at me, I wonder if that's how I looked when I first saw him. "Where are you from?" he asks.

"Are you going to send me back to where you found me?" I feel a surge of hope.

"Into the forest? Do you have a death wish?"

"Back to my..." I'm about to say 'world'. That's too out-there for me, still. "Home."

"You're from a place with humans only, aren't you? That'd explain your intolerance. And your...simplicity."

"Yes!" I breathe in relief. "Yes I am!" I ignore his other comments.

"If I offer to take you home, will you make a deal with me?"

I nod. I knew he knew what I was talking about before! Ava: 1, Alien: 0.

"If I take you back, you have to repay me for the glassware."

"I told you, I don't have any gold."

"Someone you know must have some. Figure something out. You want to go home? You accept my terms."

I think hard. I do have a lot of savings in the bank. Way more than I would ever tell anyone. Laying pipes for thirteen months, that constant manual labor I worked with a team a few months back, made crazy-good pay. I'm talking hundreds of thousands, thanks to day-to-day eight hour shifts with no breaks or weekends. With those savings, I can get my hands on gold in some form or another, probably enough to pay him back ten times over if I had to.

I look at him. "I accept your terms."

He smirks at me, a smirk I already know is one I don't like because of the attitude that accompanies it. "A fair warning: we are going on foot."

"What? How? Don't you just...um...beam me back the same way I came?"

"I'm no mage," he scoffs, as if that explains everything. "And I am not wasting more coin on flight than is necessary. I have no ground mount. Therefore, we are going on foot until we reach contested territories."

He talks so weird, I think to myself. "Well, how far is it?" I ask as he turns around and hoists his satchel onto his shoulder more snugly. I follow after him. My arm in its sling sort of throws me off balance for a second, but I adjust quickly.

"Princess, I don't know how you ended up in Feralas, but we've got a long way to go if we want to reach Elwynn."

"What's Elwynn? Is that where you're going to send me home? Does it have a mage?"

He throws me another surprised, confused glance as he keeps walking along the dirt path we've turned onto. "You're more addled than I thought. Concussions are no joke."

"What?"

He halts and turns toward me. "Here's the plan: Ask no more questions. Keep your mouth shut, and I'll keep mine shut, and we'll have a grand time. Follow close to me; do not stray from the road, and if I tell you to do something, I need you to do it without question. If your arm starts hurting again or if you feel dizzy at all, though, inform me, and I will take care of it. Do we have a deal?"

My independent, obstinate side is fighting to rip free, but I bottle it in and nod once. "Deal."

He gives me a thank-you dip of his head, and keeps walking. I fall into step behind him. This is fitting to be a long, weird night.


	2. Chapter 2: Exordium

Despite having been out of the rain for the past three-ish hours, my pants, feet, and underclothes remain uncomfortably damp and cold. I've tied my black jacket around my belt in an attempt to dry my undershirt, a long-sleeved, dark red, cotton shirt that I've owned for years. I know I'd feel better in dry clothing; I can't retain body heat, and as I trudge along behind 'Fear' in silence, I cling my arms around myself and try not to show how chilled I really am. I'm probably going to get sick; my nose is already congested, and this is doing nothing for my immune system. I want nothing more than a hot shower, a clean pair of dry, warm pajamas, and my own bed.

We're walking along a dark, lantern-lit path that winds through the forest unending. I haven't said a word this entire time. He doesn't want to talk to me, fine. I'm not going to be one of those people who's so self-absorbed that she can't shut up for...for however many hours this is going to take.

I have no idea how far away 'Elwynn' is from where we are, but he acted like it was a long walk. It's definitely a long walk, already. My feet are sore and wet, and they've been rubbing inside my boots so badly that I can feel the blisters forming with every step. His stride is also hard to keep up with. I'm five-foot-five, and I come up to just under his shoulder. His legs are probably an entire foot longer than mine, and his steps are fast. I've had to basically jog half the time to stay with him.

I just want to get home, and I'm determined to make it. I've been ten times more uncomfortable than I am now, and I did just fine. I'm not going to complain out loud. That'll do nothing but make me feel worse. It's all about the attitude.

I force myself to think about something else. That 'something' ends up being the alien walking a few steps in front of me. He's built like a runner, or a climber, or a swimmer, maybe. Narrow hips, broad shoulders, and a loose, relaxed stride. He's so tall, all his limbs are elongated and smoothly tapered at the joints. I can tell he's muscular. Extremely muscular, really, but because his arms and legs and torso are so long, his muscles are pulled longer too, and they don't look so beefy or stocky. If I don't look at his head, where his ears pull to a point almost a foot long behind him, he looks like a freakishly-massive human. His clothes are dark furs and leathers, and he's got knives as big as my forearms strapped to his belt and the upper thigh of his left leg. I wonder if he's left-handed; the way he's got his weapons situated and the way he holds his pack over his shoulder suggest that he is.

He has some sort of leather armor on his forearms and shins, and on one shoulder that's fitted to his frame. He has tied his vivid purple hair back into what's basically a messy bun. I don't think it was intentional; it looks more like he tried to make a ponytail and gave up when part of it got stuck in the tie he used. This strikes me funny; even aliens are doing the man-bun. I can't resist the smirk that tugs at my mouth.

I guess he realizes I'm staring at him, because while he's walking, he glances back my way and makes split-second eye contact, and then jerks his eyes away just as fast, glancing past me into the forest and then turning forward again. I tilt a curious eyebrow, but say nothing.

About two hundred steps pass, and he does it again. Again, our eyes meet, and again, he tries to save face by looking somewhere else. Like eye contact is some sort of crime. He's the one with the unsettling glowing eyes, not me. If anything, I should be more uncomfortable than him.

He keeps walking, and then I hear his voice. He doesn't turn around, just talks.

"You've been astonishingly quiet."

It jolts me all over again, hearing him speak and understanding him. Walking all this way in silence made me feel like maybe it was some sort of dream, and I'd been lulled into a quiet security. But then he talked, and it forced me to wake up again.

"You're serving your purpose," I say stoically, my voice keeping an even tone. "Why would I talk to you?"

"There are many reasons to talk to me," he counters. "For one, you could've asked for dry clothing two hours ago and I'd have given it to you."

From where I'm walking to his rear right side, I think I see a dimple form on his cheek, and I grit my teeth in annoyance. Holy shit, the alien is messing with me. I try to ignore him for a few seconds, but I can't help but respond.

"You told me I had to shut my trap," I blurt.

"Well, yes," he turns his head to the side to look at me, and I see his weirdly playful expression smirking at me, "but-"

"-So you can't place blame on me for doing what you requested."

I hear him snicker voicelessly as he keeps walking. His tone is one of teasing. "Would you like dry apparel?"

"No," I snap, frustrated. I immediately get more pissed at myself for turning him down. I'm more frustrated than I want to be. I'm tired and wet and sore, and it's making me grumpy. It's been a grumpy night for me, overall. Plus, he's asking for it.

"Now, Ava," he starts, patronizingly, "you shouldn't-"

"-How much longer do we have?" I interrupt him on purpose.

He waits a couple seconds. "We've got a long way to get where you're going, Princess."

"How many more hours?"

"You should be thinking more in terms of days."

"Days?!" I stop in my tracks, horrified. "We'll be walking for days? I can't do that! I don't know if you're some sort of robot who doesn't need sleep or rest, but I do!"

"We're not _walking_ for days," he counters, but then he doesn't say anything else.

He hasn't stopped walking, so I shout at him again. "Hey!"

He stops, turns, and looks back at me. "What?"

"I need rest," I finally give, and my voice quiets considerably as my eyes dart toward my feet, "And...dry clothes, if those really are on the table." I glance back up at him.

I can't tell what he's thinking; the look on his face is unreadable. Not a bad one. Thoughtful? Amused, maybe? He waits there a moment longer, staring me down intensely, before smirking at me with one corner of his mouth. In my mind, I'm wondering where this sudden change in his attitude came from. Back in that town, he'd been a lot less chipper.

"You could've said that two hours ago, too, Princess," he says as he advances toward me, swinging the backpack off of his shoulder.

"Don't call me that," I grumble under my breath, so he can't hear.

"You prefer Badger, then?" he asks.

I gawk at him. He was at least fifteen feet away from me, way too far away to hear what I said. Is it the massive ears, I wonder?

"D-don't call me that, either," I stutter.

"We'll set camp this way," he walks past me, off the path, and into the trees. "I saw a fallen tree through here that'll supply firewood."

I follow behind him, keeping my mouth closed. I'm just relieved to be getting a break. I don't want to fuck my luck.

'Fear' tosses his crappy, old backpack on the ground in a small clearing, and points at it. "Stay right there with my bag. I'll be right back."

Then he wanders off into the trees, so far I can barely see or hear him. Without him there, suddenly the forest feels a thousand times bigger. Scarier. Darker, looming, ominous. The trees around me cast shadows from moonlight above them. I hear insects and small rodents scurrying through the forest floor. The more time that passes, the smaller I feel and the further I pull into myself until I've hugged my good arm around my sling and am sitting beside his backpack with my head buried. I know this is probably an unhealthy position for my broken arm to be in, but that medicine he gave me has kept the pain away entirely, and I can't feel the limb at all. So at this point, I don't give a crap. I won't, until I reach a proper hospital.

Finally, 'Fear' reappears. It's probably only been about ten minutes, but it felt like ages. He has his arms full of twigs and branches, and two good-sized logs. He throws them on the ground haphazardly, then kneels and positions them into a proper campfire pyramid, with the kindling deep underneath the rest.

With what looks like a shard of flint, he strikes a rough stone in his hand over and over until he lights the tinder, and slowly he feeds the small flame with larger and larger pieces of wood. As he blows on the fire, it illuminates his face, and I sit there staring at him. In my tired, loopy state, I gradually see less and less of an alien and more of a man; just a man, like any other. He has a straight, regal nose that tapers at a soft point, a narrow chin with trimmed stubble, full, upturned lips and deep-set, large eyes with soft lids. His skin is youthful and smooth, and his cheekbones lay high on his face. He's a good-looking guy, all things considered. If he were someone that I met back at home, I'd probably swoon.

Hell, I need sleep. I'm drooling over a purple alien.

I watch as he keeps adding wood until he's finally lit the largest log. Now he has a hot fire roaring with sparks crackling and popping into the air. I've never seen someone start a fire from scratch so quickly and fluidly. I wonder how many times he's done that before.

Then, he reaches behind him and grabs the remainder of what he'd retrieved, which is a stack of green, pliable twigs and leaves, not good for burning. But he tosses them in as well, and they start smoking excessively. He brushes his palms off.

"That'll keep the bugs at bay," he announces. He sits back on his heels, leans his palms against his legs, and turns his head toward me. I'm still beyond exhausted and haven't gotten over how attractive he actually is, so I don't process what he says until a few seconds after he says it. "First order of business is to get you out of those clothes."

I feel my cheeks turn beet red before I can possibly hope to control my reaction, and I blink excessively. "R-right," I sputter, and for some reason I keep talking. "Because I'm w-wet."

I cringe at my word choice at the same time as he half-smiles at it. I know he sees how red I am. And I know, by that little half-second of a smirk he just gave, that he knows why. Now, I start to guess that he has had that reaction a lot from a lot of women here. I bet all the other aliens think he's hot shit.

Keeping eye contact, he leans toward me, and I freeze. I don't even breathe when he stretches forward and his arm almost touches me. But then his hand closes around the burlap of his backpack beside my leg, and he pulls it to him and sits down, digging into it with a knowing smile teasing his lips. I exhale the breath I've been holding, feeling like an idiot.

'Fear' pulls out a large, weather-worn shirt and a pair of nappy pants and throws them to me. I catch them, lifting them to look at them. The shirt is more than half as big as I am, and I can already tell that the pants, if I hold them up while I'm standing, will reach from the ground, nearly up to my chest. Everything he gave me to wear is massive. But they're dry, and I'm desperate.

He pats the ground next to the fire. "You can put your wet clothing here. The heat will dry them for the morning."

"Thank you," I mumble quietly.

He nods, watching me expectantly. A few seconds pass. "Well, change," he tilts his head, crossing his arms.

"Right here?"

"Do you want to change your clothing out in the open forest instead?" he argues.

"Turn around," I grumble.

"Nothing I haven't seen, Princess," he snickers, but he does turn his head away.

With some difficulty removing the sling from my arm, I manage to strip my shirt off, and then my bra. Ridding myself of the damp clothing is one of the best possible feelings I've ever felt. The warmth of the fire hits my cold skin, and I shudder pleasantly, feeling goosebumps emerge. I yank the large tunic over my head. It swallows me whole. Then I remove my boots, socks, and pants, setting them out by the rest of my clothing to dry. I keep my underwear on, and I try to ignore the way the firelight hits my legs and makes the various dimples in my thighs seem so much more prominent. No time to be self-conscious; it's just me and an arguably-hot alien, and he's not even looking at me.

When I'm standing, the shirttails reach comfortably past my knees. I decide I don't want to wear the gigantic pants; my legs won't fit in them correctly, and I'm not cold anymore. This shirt is like a gown and covers everything I need it to and more. It has leather patches in the elbows and it's been stitched more than a doll in a horror movie, but it'll work great. And it's warm.

I turn to look at 'Fear', and I'm thankful he's still looking off into the forest. At least he's sort of a gentleman, when it counts.

"I'm not going to wear the pants," I tell him, handing them back toward him. "Thank you, though."

"I'll wager most men you've said that to have leapt for joy," he teases and turns his eyes toward me. He takes the pants and stuffs them back into his bag. Without speaking, he re-applies the sling on my arm. I'd prefer not to sleep with it, but he knows more than me it seems.

"By the way, I don't have an extra bedroll," he announces. "It does get quite cold in the small hours before dawn in this forest. I can see how large I can make the roll, and we can share. Otherwise, the forest floor isn't actually that bad. Just cold."

No offer of letting me use the bedroll for myself. Drat. No way I'm ever sharing a bed with an alien.

I snort. "I'll take the ground."

"Suit yourself," he shakes his head, and unrolls a giant blanket onto the ground. It's basically a sleeping bag, minus the bag part. He folds it a couple times until it's the right size for just him to sleep on, and lies down face-up.

I situate myself a few feet away, curled so that I can feel warmth from the fire all along my side. I can see 'Fear' staring up into the canopy of the trees, his glowing eyes casting light up into the air.

Almost a minute passes as I try to make myself sleep, but I keep opening my eyes and looking at him, and he's still staring upward. Finally, I have to ask questions, so I sit up and massage the arches of my feet as I talk to him.

"So, what are you, exactly?" I ask him. He seems startled at the sound of my voice, but only for an instant, and he doesn't look my way.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm human. You aren't. I've never seen something, er... someone, like you."

"You've never seen an elf before? Seriously?" He lifts himself onto one elbow so that he can look at me with surprise written in his features.

"Wait, you really are an elf? You weren't just kidding about that?" I'm surprised.

"I'm a night elf."

"And your name is 'Fear'?"

"Yes."

"How do you spell that?"

He spells it out. I arch my eyebrows. "F-y-r? That's so strange."

"It's a diminutive of 'Aerefyr'."

"That's even stranger," I mumble. "Fyr it is."

He smirks and leans harder on his elbow, relaxing more as he watches me.

I look around me at the woods. "And what is this place?"

"We're still in Feralas."

"That's what this world is called?"

He gives me the strangest look, like he's legitimately worried for the first time. "...That's what this _forest_ is called."

"So what...world am I on?"

"World?" he looks more alarmed. "Azeroth." He studies me intensely. "Ava, I'm worried you may have hit your head harder than we thought; this is some painfully-basic knowledge for you to not-"

"-Nevermind," I sigh quietly, relaxing back down onto the ground. "It doesn't matter. I'll be home soon enough."

"Right," he purses his lips, still staring at me. I lie down and roll over, so he can't see my face. I'm fine, seriously. I didn't hit my head that hard. He's just being weird. Why is he even worried about me in the first place? I'm not his responsibility.

I hear him shift and get comfortable again. A couple minutes pass as I stare at the fire. I think he's fallen asleep by now, so I glance back at him. He's facing away from me, so I can't tell for sure, but his breathing has become rhythmic.

I roll toward the fire again and close my eyes, drifting away into the sound of the crackling flames.

* * *

I'm usually able to recognize when I'm dreaming, and right now I do.

I see a child whom I think I don't know or recognize. He looks normal in my mind. I don't notice that he's a night elf with purple skin and glowing silver eyes. All I notice is that he's young, maybe age ten or eleven, and he's upset. I'm following behind him with no attempt to do so. He's obviously the focus of this dream.

He runs in the door of a cabin-like house at full speed, and I'm right behind him. I see a middle-aged human couple standing in a huddle at the corner of the kitchen, and they look terrified. Not of the boy, but of a fourth character whose face I can't see. He's in shadow, and he's intruding in this home. I know the people here are in danger.

"Not them!" the boy shouts pleadingly at the dark figure. _"Please!"_

The figure ignores him and advances out of the shadow toward the couple, withdrawing a pair of knives.

"Aerefyr," the woman breathes fearfully to the child, "run."

The boy does run, but not away. He bolts toward the intruder and tackles him into the wall, but he's thrown off only a second later. He's shoved across the room and hits a chair, buckling into it.

I see the figure advance on the couple, and within seconds, he strikes them down with a flurry of attacks. They can't even hope to defend themselves. I want to scream. It's so violent and horrifying and bloody. I've never had a nightmare like this. I have no idea how I've created this in my own mind.

The couple is dying on the floor as the boy screams in shock and tries to reach them. The dark figure drags the child by the shoulders out of the building. I can feel the panic and rage and horror he's feeling. I hear him screaming names. Gertrude and Halvard. I know somehow that those are the people who just died.

I begin to melt into terror, unable to handle the intensity of the feelings inside me.

"AVA!" a booming voice shatters my consciousness.

Suddenly, I awake in a cold sweat to the sound of a bloodcurdling shriek. It's high pitched and sounds inhuman, and it jolts me nearly out of my own skin. My eyes whip open, and the first thing I see is glowing silver eyes about two feet away from mine. I feel pressure around my free wrist, and I realize that Fyr has a giant hand clasped around my unbroken forearm and is looking at me with an intense concern. I feel exhausted and terrified at what I've just seen, and I'm shaking all over, still hysterical.

Then I realize that the shrieking sound is coming from me.

I quiet immediately and stop fighting. I sit there gasping for breath, trying to get a grip and relaxing my arms. I feel like an idiot, and I don't want him to see this weakness. I've never had a nightmare or a terror like this; if anything, sleep is when I'm at my most peaceful, and I don't know where this came from.

Fyr lets go of my wrist and leans back on his heels, staring at me and panting. It's barely light out, and I'm freezing cold, shivering from head to toe not only from the temperature but from whatever I just saw in my head.

That was Fyr. In my dream. I just now understand that I've had a dream about him as a child, and it has me spooked.

"Wh-wh-who is Gertrude?" I gasp.

His features transform, but they flatten again before I can process his expression. "What did you say?"

"Gertrude a-and Halvard, who are they?"

I see the muscles in his jaw jump outward, and his nostrils flare. "Where did you hear those names?"

"I don't know. I just s-saw..."

"What did you see?"

"It was a nightmare," I shiver, staring at him. "Who-"

"Nobody, just a nightmare," he says before I can finish. He looks wary, and he's watching me closely. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. My arm hurts."

He stands and grabs his bag, and tosses me another one of those red cordials. "Here."

I catch it with my free hand and open it with my teeth, and drink it. Immediately I start to feel better. Not only physically, but emotionally. This stuff is amazing.

"Thanks," I mumble. Fyr is still staring at me out of the corners of his eyes as he rolls up his blanket, watching my every move. I'm trying to ignore him. I have no idea what has just happened, and I don't know how to act right now.

"You may want to put some pants on," he says blandly, tossing me my clothing. Just then I realize I'm still only wearing his shirt, and I turn white when I realize that I'm sitting here cross-legged. I'm only wearing underwear. He can probably see far more than I want him to.

One embarrassment after the next. At least this last one can be easily remedied. Screaming one's head off while one is sleeping isn't as easy to dismiss as being half naked. I think.

I quickly yank my clothing on, which is all dry. I feel better immediately as my limbs warm up and stop shivering. Fyr finishes packing everything including the shirt I borrowed and tosses his bag over his shoulder, then looks at me.

"Ready?"

I nod silently. He turns and leads me out of the woods, back to the path. We both stay quiet. There's an uncomfortable, unspoken tension between us over what happened this morning. Obviously he knew those names, and I'm still super freaked out that I had some dream about his past that's even remotely accurate. And knowing something specific as names? That's hard to ignore. I also feel bad for waking him up by screaming. That wasn't very nice of me.

But, neither of us want to bring it up. So we both progress in silence. I try to convince myself it's not as weird as it really is. I've never really believed in visions or supernatural happenings. But I've also never believed in elves or aliens or other worlds, yet here I am. I'm going to need some serious therapy when I get home.

We walk for hours again.

My stomach is growling and twisting itself painfully, and I realize the only thing I've eaten since I've gotten here has been that medicine he gave me. But I don't feel comfortable enough to break the silence yet, and he hasn't eaten either, which makes me wonder if there is any food to eat in the first place. I'll eat when he does. I can handle that.

My stomach growls again, and I wince. I'm pretty sure that the sound of the forest keeps it from being audible, but I can feel it.

Up ahead, Fyr keeps walking, but I see him digging in the side pocket of his backpack. A second later, he pulls something out. I can't see what it is, because he's in front of me, but then he turns and reaches a hand out toward me, offering me something. It looks like a strip of bark from a tree, but I take it.

"Eat it," he grunts, and I see him put a strip between his teeth and tear a chunk off and chew it.

Those ears of his really can hear everything.

I sniff the bark and realize it's smoked jerky, smothered in pepper and salt. I devour it as fast as one can devour jerky. It's dry, but it's food, and I'm thankful.

The food gives me energy, and I feel so much better. I still haven't said a word to him. I don't really want to. I don't want to freak him out more.

I mean, It's not that I give a shit about what my alien traveling partner thinks of me, but...

Actually, I _do_ care about what he thinks of me. That's stupid, but it's true. He's a person and has thoughts, just like me. And so far, he's been pretty cool about everything that's happened.

I just want this trip to be over already.

Instead of me breaking the silence, though, he does.

"I've a question," he says slowly.

"Okay," I say hesitantly.

"Have you had any magical training?"

"Magical training?" I repeat with confusion.

"Yes. Arcane, if we're being specific."

"I don't know what that is."

"But you reek of arcane magic. You have, ever since I found you. It was initially very off-putting, if I'm being honest."

I wonder to myself what the hell that means. Do I stink? I make a face of confusion at him, but don't say anything.

He turns and catches my facial expression, and then he barely smirks. "Let me guess, you don't know what that is, either?"

"No."

"You really were raised under a bloody rock. Possessing dangerous magic and not even knowing about it is..." he breathes out through his lips in what is basically a whistle, "It's preposterous."

I grimace. "No, I was raised in a different world, where magic and elves and healing cordials don't exist."

"Whatever you say," he dismisses me. I have a feeling he thinks I'm batshit crazy, considering the way he reacts to the things I say. Just because I hit my head really, _really_ hard when we met doesn't mean everything I say can be dismissed. And to think he called _me_ intolerant...

We walk around a curve in the road, and I see something that makes my hopes leap. A town, decently-sized, appears in the forest. It's unreal how excited I feel at seeing civilization, a chance to rest my legs and nurse my feet. The thick woods around it swallow it, but I can tell that it's larger than it looks.

Soon enough, we enter the settlement, and Fyr clearly knows where he's going, because he bee-lines across town. We near an open shelter that looks like stables, but I don't see any animals. There's a guy standing next to it, and apparently he's our target.

Fyr walks right up to him, but before he can say anything, the man holds his hand up to stop him.

"All out at the moment, friend," the man says. His voice reminds me of my uncle's. My uncle was a smoker, if that tells anything.

"Nothing at all?" Fyr sounds discouraged. "Every gryphon is in use?" I don't know what that means, and I hang back and watch.

The man shrugs. "None returning until this evening, unless we receive a stray incoming flight. Come back in an hour or two and you may have more luck."

Fyr grumbles something under his breath and turns around, heading the same direction we came from, and I follow behind.

"What was that all about?" I ask, having to jog to keep up with him.

"We need to take a flight to Theramore," he says. "But there are no available taxis. So we'll have to wait."

 _Taxis_? I think to myself, picturing a flying yellow cab. I have no idea what to expect in this place. For all I know, that could be a legitimate thing.

"O-kay," I say slowly. "Where will we wait?"

"Follow me," he grunts.

I do. He leads me through town, and then turns down a thinner road, into a darker, more wooded part of the settlement. We reach a large, two-story building and walk inside.

It smells like smoke and alcohol, like a low-class bar. It looks like one, too. The patrons are scattered around, and I do see a bar near one wall.

Fyr walks to the bar and sits on a stool. I follow his lead and sit down beside him, leaning on my elbow. I'm sort of afraid I'll get a splinter through my shirt, given how rough the bar is, but I'm not worried enough to not lean against it.

Fyr looks at me. "Fancy an ale?"

"I can't pay."

"I'll add it to your bill," he shrugs, and to my surprise, he winks at me.

The wink starts a weird, unintentional tingle through my spine. I like it, but I don't really want to admit that. I've interacted with him enough to know that no matter how different our backgrounds, he's still a person. An aesthetically-appealing person, in many respects of the word. All his actions and even speech patterns and humor are as normal as those of anyone else I know, and the more I look at him, the prettier he is. Even with his wing-like eyebrows and lavender skin and pointed ears, he's still attractive. They make him seem all the more unusual, or...exotic. And to think I'd hoped that getting a good night's sleep would've cleared my head of him. Yikes.

I realize I've just been staring at him for almost ten seconds, and with that realization, I inhale sharply and accidentally choke on my own spit. I cough uncontrollably, and my eyes water with the irritation in my throat. God, I sabotage myself at least once an hour.

"I'll take that as a yes," he gives me a funny look, and he signals the bartender and orders two pints.

I recover and keep my eyes down at the bar, embarrassed and annoyed. Suddenly a heavy mug hits the surface right in front of me, and I grab it immediately in relief and lift it to my lips. The first drink I take, I nearly spit it out, but I muscle past the initial shock. This is some _strong_ booze. I've never tasted anything like it. It burns my throat, but it's also smooth enough to swallow. I take another drink, and another. It's really good, and I'm really thirsty, and I'm never one to turn down a good drink when it's offered.

I keep drinking until I'm satisfied, and then I set the mug on the counter. I glance at Fyr, and then do a double-take. He's staring at me with his lips parted and his eyebrows arched sharply. I can tell he is amused.

"What?" I say reluctantly, looking back down at my mug. I realize I've chugged over half of it.

"I can't say I expected that," he gives me a grin with no warning, and my stomach does a flip-flop at not only his white, dazzling smile, but also at the terrifying size of his canines. He has fangs. Literal fangs.

And, I think, maybe his smile is nice, too. Why couldn't he have done that to me last night when I was injured and angry? Could've fixed everything. Could've done a lot more...

"Oh for fuck's sake," I mumble to myself, forcing myself to look away from him. I need to stop thinking like this. It hasn't been that long since I've been with a man. I shouldn't be reacting to this guy like I am. Out of all the people I might feel attraction for, an alien elf is not allowed to be one of them. This is reaching those weird kinky levels of sci-fi, like the movies my brother Isaac would watch with his friends when they were teenagers. I know he only watched them for the well-endowed, scantily-dressed ladies and poorly-costumed aliens, but my point is still valid.

I want to smash my brain with a hammer. Maybe inebriating myself isn't the best idea; I always talk twice as much when I'm drinking, and I don't want to creep Fyr out. That would make for one awkward remainder of our trip, and I know I'm not thinking straight right now anyway. I'm out of my element, and nearly everything I'm experiencing here is new, and it's messing with my judgment. Obviously.

"We should check that arm of yours while we are here," Fyr says as he lifts his own drink to his mouth. My eyes travel to his stubble-covered, muscular neck as he lifts his chin, and I watch his low adam's apple bob up and down when he swallows. Even that is somehow attractive. I squirm in my seat and force my eyes away from him. The first other person I look at is our bartender, and I get a knowing look from the guy. He has seen straight through the looks I've been giving this elf, and he's judging the shit out of me.

Yikes. Bartender caught me. I need to calm down. I'm going crazy here.

My cheeks heat up at the look the bartender gave me, and to save myself some embarrassment I chug my own drink until it's gone. That'll give me an excuse to look flushed. As soon as I set down the mug, it's refilled. I hope refills are free. I know they aren't.

"Yeah, sure," I answer Fyr's suggestion. "It doesn't hurt right now." I try to unwrap the sling from my shoulder, but he scoots closer.

"I'll get it," he orders, and bats my hand aside with two fingers, and then he unloops the sling from around my head and sets the arm free. My arm is basically useless, and it just kind of sits there.

"Remove your jacket."

"Yes, sir," I giggle dumbly and take it off. I don't realize, right then, that this is the first time I've actually laughed here.

My shirt is long-sleeved, so that does no good, because my skin's covered. But Fyr takes both of my arms gently and holds them out to compare. My broken one is swollen near the elbow, stretching the sleeve out.

"Fuck," I hear him swear in a whisper. I think it's the first swear I've heard come from him, if I remember right. Maybe not. I don't know. That's not what I should focus on.

"Bad?" I ask him.

"Bad," he nods. "I think we'll have to find a healer." A few seconds pass, and he frowns. "Fuck," he says again under his breath. "Who knows what that's going to cost..."

"Well, sorry for inconveniencing you," I snap back. "Just leave me here, and I'll drink myself into oblivion. You can take your flying taxi to the other side of the world for all I care." I grab my mug and chug it again. I know I'm getting drunk, drinking this much this fast.

The look he gives me is nonplussed. "And here I'd hoped you'd be more pleasant when intoxicated."

"You get what you see, Fyr," I hold my arms out, and I see him cringe at the way I use my broken one. I can't feel any pain, I don't care. "Take me or leave me."

He says nothing.

I drink some more, and then I smirk. "Preferably take me first, passionately, and then leave me," I say under my breath, and I laugh at my own joke. Then I finish off the remainder of my second pint. It's only been about fifteen minutes since we got here. I'm on a roll.

Fyr finally breaks his serious stare with what can barely even be called a flicker of a smile, but I see it. I feel triumphant. But he keeps looking at me, and I can't tell if he's studying or judging. If it's the latter, I feel the need to defend myself.

So I do, against my own better (sober) judgment.

"You can't judge me for that," I laugh, pointing at him even though he's right next to me. My words aren't slurred; I'm not that far gone, just tipsy. And buzzed. And maybe sort of drunk. But I'm not trashed, not even close. I keep talking, "You know you're hot, with your attitude and your face and your stupid shoulders and your hair and your little 'winks'. I don't care if you're a purple alien, you're attractive, in your own weird way. And I am entitled to think that. So, leave me alone."

I look at him again. He's still just listening quietly to me, amused.

I groan to myself. "I need to slow down with this ale."

"Yes, you do," he grins that sideways grin again. "For your sake, not for mine. This is wildly entertaining to watch."

I grimace and tug at my long-sleeved shirt. "It's hot in here."

"Correction: you're merely drunk and overheating, Princess."

"I'm not drunk," I grunt, while in the process trying to strip off my shirt.

Fyr reaches out and holds the hem of my shirt down at my waist with one hand, keeping me from pulling it off, and I become frustrated.

"Stop!" I complain, pulling my torso away from him.

"As much fun as this would be, I don't want you to attract the wrong kind of attention," Fyr laughs. "This isn't Goldshire."

"Oh, now you're being a fucking gentleman. But not when I broke your teapot, oh no, not then," I grumble, giving up on the shirt fiasco.

"You done?" he asks. I don't like his attitude, and I furrow my eyebrows at him.

"Not quite. You know, it's not fair that I have to repay you for that glassware or whatever. It was just as much an accident that I broke your teapot that it was that you made me break my damn arm."

"The only thing I did wrong was mind my own business," Fyr argues, finishing his first pint only now. He doesn't even look buzzed.

"And the only thing _I_ did wrong was get struck by a bolt of fucking lightning," I retort.

"Wow. You spew expletives nearly every time you open your mouth." He ignores the lightning part entirely. Probably just chalking it up to me being crazy.

"No I fucking don't," I say without thinking, and I bite my tongue.

Fyr gives me an 'I told you so' look. "I bet you don't make friends very well, do you?"

"Easier than you do. I have friends."

"Oh, yeah? And do you terrorize _them_ with your motorbike?"

"You're still stuck on that stupid leap-frog thing," I sigh, taking a few sips of pint number three.

"You can bet your ass I am," Fyr nods, and leans in closer with a matter-of-fact look on his face. "And I'm not surprised you didn't have anyone else to play it with you. I bet you broke all of _their_ toys long ago."

He looks at me like he just delivered the sickest burn, and I have to swallow laughter.

I want to hit him. I do, really. But, as I stare back at him, I also sort of just want to touch his face in general. I want to know if his skin feels like human skin. For some reason, it looks like it'd be softer. This is getting increasingly frustrating and increasingly harder to contain, the drunker I get. I need to get home and be around human men, stat.

"Are you finished?" I cock my head, repeating his words from earlier. I have to consciously keep myself from drinking more right now. It is hitting me hard. I have never drank anything this fast or felt so suddenly drunk. I feel blissful and happy. I have absolutely no worries. It feels good, compared to how worried I've been for the past sixteen hours.

Fyr isn't able to hide his smile, and I know that he notices the way my eyes fixate on it.

"I'm finished," he grins. "Are you finished?"

"Don't smile like that; it's distracting," I grimace.

"Then, don't sit like that," he retorts.

"Huh?" I ask dumbly, sitting up straight.

"You're propped on that bar stool with your legs crossed and your back curved and your-" he waves two fingers toward my messy black hair that's probably stringy and gross from the rainwater, "-hair like that, and it's also distracting." He nurses his mug, hiding everything but his eyes and brows from me.

"Well, then, don't look at me," I reply, though in my mind, I'm dancing at the thought that he's attracted to me, too, despite how terrible I probably look right now. I can practically feel the bags under my eyes, and I have no makeup on.

"Ditto," he looks away.

I can't look away from him, though. I feel a surge of confidence, thanks to the ale, and speak up, "Can I touch your face?"

He turns to me and sends me a funny look. "Why?"

"I want to."

"And if I say no?"

"Then I won't."

"Ah," he laughs, "I think it's past time to call quits on the ale. You drank it way too quickly. It'd be best if you were near sober before we fly tonight, else I'll have to strap you in to keep you upright."

"I agree. I do. But I still want to touch your face."

He stares at me, and eventually he sighs. "Do what you will."

I grin and place my fingers onto the side of his face. It feels like...skin. Just regular, warm, smooth skin, with facial stubble tickling my hand. I run the backs of my knuckles along his defined jawline. He looks like he's trying to form an opinion on this entire situation, but I really don't care what he thinks right now. I'm just marveling at the fact that I'm running my hand along an alien's face, and he's letting me. And we're bonding with alcohol, in a bar, probably billions of miles away from my planet. I'm so drunk that the idea of this actually makes me feel excited.

I trace his lower lip with the tip of my pointer finger. His mouth is soft and velvety. The corners of his full lips curve upward naturally rather than sagging downward in a frown. I know I'm only making this comparison because I've been drinking, but his features on the bottom half of his face remind me of Ryan Reynolds's features. That is, if Ryan Reynolds were an Avatar, or something.

But his eyes don't look like any eyes I've ever seen, and not just because they're glowing. They're unique, large, intense, thick-lashed and angled attractively. He really is beautiful, I swear. I'm not just saying this because I've had a weird day and am trying to find normalcy in everything I see.

I lean in closer to inspect him. I don't realize our faces are only inches apart, because I'm too focused on his features. I move toward his mouth, my hand gliding along his cheek. His pretty eyes are locked on mine, but I'm looking at his mouth.

Then I tug on his upper lip so that I can see his fangs again. They look incredibly sharp, not at all dulled from time.

"Wow," I gush, letting go of his mouth and sitting back in my seat once I've gotten a good enough look. "How do you not cut your tongue with those canines?"

To prove a point, he runs his tongue over his sharp teeth. I stare at the action.

"Callused, probably," he says. "Perhaps I have a tough tongue."

I don't say anything, but I do tilt my head sideways and meet his eyes. A few slow, long seconds tick by.

"Can I ask you something I've been thinking about all day?" I request.

He nods.

"Why did I have a dream about something that happened to you as a child? Is that, like, a thing here? Some sort of supernatural side effect?"

"I do not know," is all he says, after a long pause. He's become completely serious again.

"Do you want to know what I dreamt?" I ask quietly.

"I would like to know the extent of what you witnessed, but not right now. And not here."

I nod.

Silence falls for a few seconds, but he doesn't let it last much longer than that. He looks away, produces coins from his pocket and gives them to the bartender, and leaves his seat.

"Where are you going?" I ask, leaving my chair as well.

"Fresh air."

"Can I come?"

"Yep." He doesn't look back as he walks away.

I start to move, but I feel a hand tap my arm, and I look back and realize it's the bartender. He looks wary.

"Better watch yourself around that one," he says ultra-quietly about Fyr, speaking so softly I have to lean in and take a second to actually process what he said. It doesn't help that he looks about sixty, and his voice is crackly.

"Fyr? Why?" I try to be quiet, but I know I'm not. I look at Fyr, but he's just now walking out of the door.

"Seen him passin' through here for thirty years now, and never was he up to any real good. Always mercenary or bounty hunter work. He's smart, like elves are. Smart, secretive, and dangerous. He uses people 'til they're all used up, and he don't care about none but himself, ye' understand? Keep yer boundaries tight around that one."

"He's escorting me home so I can pay him for breaking my arm, so that all makes sense," I wave my hand dismissively, thinking only on the surface. My inebriation makes it hard for me to concentrate deeply at all. "I can handle myself. But, thank you for your concern." I start to walk away.

"Don't ye' fall in love with 'im, either," the man calls out to me. "He don't love anyone. Not even himself, I'll bet."

"Uh, thanks! I won't!" I shout without looking back, wrinkling my nose at the thought.

That was weird.

I follow after Fyr. As soon as I start walking, my head spins, and I have to make a conscious effort to put one foot in front of the other because I'm drunker than I thought I was. I make it out of the building and see that Fyr, on the other hand, is just fine, walking with his hands shoved in his pockets. He takes long strides down the road, probably about thirty yards ahead of me. I attempt to jog but immediately stop due to dizziness, and I resort to fast-walking to catch up with him.

I meet him just when we reach a small bridge that crosses a creek. Down beside the water, I see four children fishing with crude poles and chattering among each other. Fyr leans on the wooden rail that overlooks the water, observing the young fishermen. A little girl with blonde curls shouts something as she's nearly yanked into the water by her pole, and her friends help her reel in a large trout. They all begin shouting excitedly, and I hear Fyr exhale through his nose in an amused laugh.

I look at him. "How old are you?" He looks anywhere between twenty-five and thirty, but the bartender said he'd seen Fyr for, like, thirty years, and I'm guessing Fyr wasn't born here.

"Four hundred and sixteen," he hums, leaning further over the edge to peer into the clear, trickling water. Some of his loose hair falls down beside his face when he does it, and sunlight that peeks through the trees reflects off the water beneath and highlights those strands, making them glow purple. The wind is picking up around us, which plays with his hair.

"Ha, ha," I say sarcastically. "I'm serious."

"As am I."

"You're not four hundred years old. You look thirty."

He looks at me sideways. "You know I'm an elf, right?" he asks slowly, patronizing as ever.

I squint my eyes at him. "And therefore you're immortal?" I lean my good arm on the bridge.

I mean my question to be sarcastic, but he shrugs.

"Not quite. For your kind, though, yes."

I'm taken aback. Immortal elves? That sounds like it was picked straight out of Tolkien's works.

"Woah," I exhale swiftly. Just then, overhead, I hear a subtle, quiet rumble. It's thunder. I look up and see that the sky, although still bright, has become overcast, and there's a dark shadow slowly closing in. Great! More lightning.

Fyr scratches his head, standing up straight. "We're going to want to beat that. Let's check the taxi status."

He starts off with no question as to whether or not I am following him, so I stumble after him. I'm still focusing really hard on walking in a straight line.

I stay a good three or four yards behind Fyr on the road, and I see his arm bump that of a human woman who's walking the opposite way. I see something fall from a fancy, colorful bag looped over her shoulder and hit the dirt road. Fyr barely notices her and doesn't acknowledge her, and she is the same. They both keep walking like nothing happened.

But I'm curious about what she dropped, so I investigate. I crouch down and pick it up, and it shines pure gold. It's a coin, printed with the seal of a lion and a bunch of lettering. It's got to be worth a lot, if it's actual gold.

My selfish and sober side would have pocketed it in a heartbeat and added it to what I owe Fyr. But my drunk, affectionate self gawks, stands up, and shouts out to the woman who dropped her coin. I see Fyr turn my way at the sudden sound of my voice, and at the other side of the road I see the woman turn and look at me disapprovingly.

I hold the coin up so she can see it, and I approach her. "You dropped this."

She gives me an entire body-check, eyes going from head-to-toe, then back up. She gives me a funny look, a pathetic upside-down smile, and wrinkles her nose. "Keep it. Get some real clothes and a bath. You need it more than I do."

With that she turns around and keeps walking.

I'm stunned. I stare at the back of her head for a good five seconds as she walks away as I feel anger boil up. Without thinking, I reel my hand to throw the coin at her, fuming. The rumbling in the sky overhead well describes what's going on in my head.

But, as soon as I pull back, the coin is plucked from my fingers.

"One down," I hear Fyr's smug voice, "Seventeen to go. And did I hear mention of a bath? That sounds wonderful. Maybe I'll put that on my to-do list."

I ball my hands into fists, still glaring at the woman. "Oh yeah? You'd better keep walking, you... You..." I flounder for a comeback. She's probably too far away to hear anything I'm saying by now, anyways, so I just trail off and hope no one heard me.

"Ouch, that must've gotten her good," Fyr's voice is still right there behind me, and I whip around toward him, still mad at what's-her-face.

"You know what? If she had any idea the bullshit I've been through in the last day, maybe she wouldn't be such a raging, judgmental cunt-"

"-Shhhh," Fyr basically clamps his gigantic hand over my mouth, and I see the look on his face. He seems about half a second from busting into laughter. "She owns over half of this town," he explains. "I suggest you swallow that ire. And get a grip on your magic, woman." He grimaces at me.

"For the last time, I don't have any magic," I grumble.

"Yes, you do. You're practically dripping with it."

I scoff and ignore him. He has no idea what he's talking about.

He turns me in the right direction by coaxing my shoulders, and then we start walking, now side-by-side. I can't quite tell if it's the incoming heat storm or my own anger, but the air around us feels crackly and full of energy. Volatile, almost. I want to punch miss high-and-mighty in the gut, but I can't do anything about it right now anyways. And we're headed to get a flying taxi, so that's exciting. I'll focus on that.

We round a corner in the street. We've gone a different way through town than the way we came, and I don't realize we're at the stables again until they're right there next to me. Fyr walks up to the owner again, and I hang back.

The energy in the air right now is palpable, and I'm becoming more and more antsy to get indoors. When I move my arms, I can practically feel static electricity crackling in my clothes. Something weird is happening.

My concern is interrupted by a sudden shadow above us all and a 'whoosh' of air like that of a descending helicopter. Without thinking and without looking upward, I run forward and grab Fyr by the leather on his upper arm, unashamed to admit that I'm using him as a shield against whatever just appeared out of nowhere in the sky. Fyr startles when I grab him, and he shouts something down at me, but I don't hear him.

I don't hear him, because I look up and panic when I see one of the freakiest animals I've ever seen in my life.

It's massive. It's got a tail and legs like a lion, but it's also an eagle in the face, with a pair of ginormous wings that beat so strongly as it descends that I think I'll be flattened just by the air. It blocks out the sky, and I see it peer down at Fyr and me like we're its next meal.

That's it. I have handled everything I've seen in this place, up until now, until giant animals show up wanting to eat me. I release a yelp of shock and grip Fyr's armor tightly, ducking down against him.

I feel the electricity in the air become agitated, and I hear it start to crackle. I feel my own body energized more than it's ever been before, and my adrenaline surges into my blood. I'll either be eaten by this monster, or I'll get struck by lightning again. I'm so paranoid about the lightning at this point, it's almost scarier than the eagle lion.

I just want to get out of here. I want to save myself. I don't want Fyr to get eaten either, so I guess I want him to not die, too.

The electricity around me crackles uncontrollably, and it shocks my arms.

"What are you doing?!" Fyr shouts at me as I clutch him in terror.

I'm about to scream out a violent warning of the animal above him, but then the monster lets out an earsplitting screech, and I snap. I scream too, scrunching my eyes shut and clinging to Fyr, feeling the electricity around me practically explode. I feel a nauseating yank in the depths of my stomach, a whoosh of air, and I hear a crack like thunder.

And then, nothing.

Complete, still silence. Darkness. There's no wind, no beating wings, no storm. The only thing I can sense is an intense coldness in my feet and legs, up to my waist, and my hand is still gripping Fyr's armor.

"What the _hell_ did you just do, Ava?" Fyr explodes after a moment of stunned silence, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I can't see a thing. I can't see his face, and I can't really move. But we're both alive.

I think we're alive, that is.

"I didn't do anything! I don't know!" I say shakily.

"Where did you port us?" he demands.

I still haven't let go of him. I feel him wiggling around, trying to break free of whatever it is we're stuck in. Then I put my hands down in it, and yank them away. It's freezing. It didn't feel as cold through my clothes, but it's freezing. And...snowy, I realize, as I feel it again.

It's snow. We're in a snow bank.

"I didn't do anything!" I retort. "I think we almost got struck by lightning. I don't know where we are." Part of me is dreadfully hoping that somehow I'm back home, on Earth.

"Lightning? That wasn't lightning! You teleported us both into the middle of-..." A pause, as he looks around. "Of..."

My eyes are beginning to adjust to the darkness, and I am thankful that there's star and moonlight. The only thing I see for sure is Fyr's eyes, which actually shine pretty well in the dark.

I see him tromp his way out of the drift, and I struggle to do the same, but my legs are nowhere near as long as his, and I fail. He notices, and he grabs my good arm and yanks me out of the drift. I flop down on the ground, and then stand up quickly, wishing I were even remotely more graceful than a seal.

In the faint moonlight, I see Fyr put both of his hands to his head in concern as he turns and looks every which way. I look around too, and off in the distance, I see a faint, yellow glow.

"Wait, what's that?" I point toward it. Fyr looks where I'm pointing, and he sighs in relief.

"A road."

I work hard to keep up with him, stepping in his deep tracks to make things easier on myself. We pass through sparse evergreens before reaching the lantern by the road, where we stop. The road under my feet feels hard. It's covered in snow as well, but the snow is nowhere as deep as it was beside it.

"You wouldn't happen to have a GPS, would you?" I attempt a joke, but it falls flat when Fyr gives me a weird look.

"A what?"

"Nevermind."

He looks far down the road one way, and then down the other. "I think I know where we are."

My hopes for being home are dashed, but my hopes for not dying in the wilderness are soaring.

Fyr points at a fifty degree angle upward, and I follow the direction with my eyes. I see a very faint reddish flicker up on what I think is a mountainside.

"We're just outside Ironforge," Fyr says with disbelief in his voice. "Whatever you did, you may have cut our trip time in half."

He sets off at a quick pace, and I scramble on after him, still trying to shake the alcohol from my head and trying to understand what just happened.

* * *

 _Author's Note:_

 _Thanks everyone for your support in reading and reviewing. I have decided to respond to any reviews this gets in the chapters I publish._

 _Review 1: Sven Svenson - Ava is half Caucasian, half Indian, as in from India. Thanks for reviewing. :)_

 _Review 2: Fhirinn - Thank you. :) I was hoping she would be. I'm doing what I can to get her character across without making her seem annoying. She's a lot of fun to create. And thanks for reviewing!_


	3. Chapter 3: Piceous Prowler

Sheer adrenaline initially kept me warm for the first five minutes after we arrived, but now that it's gone, I'm _so_ screwed.

A cold shiver snakes down my spine as I follow Fyr along an unending, sloped road that winds up the side of the mountain. My jacket isn't made for this cold, and it does me no good; this nighttime temperature chills my nose, mouth, and ears, and every breath I take pierces my throat and seems to freeze me from the inside out. I feel like it'd have been a lot worse if not for the alcohol I have in my system still.

To top it off, the higher we get on the mountain, the deeper the snow. As hard as I try to step where Fyr has already stepped, I'm becoming exhausted; his footsteps are way too far apart for my human legs to manage. Plus, the amount of snow in my boots right now is absurd.

"Shuffle your feet more so I can walk in your tracks," I grumble in a tired breath, and my words are visible in the form of wintry puffs in front of my face as I speak.

I'm joking, but to my surprise, he glances back at me and down at my feet, and then actually does clear the snow better for me as he walks. I pause in my steps when he does, and I can't hide the restrained smile that shoves itself onto my face. I was kidding, but I'm not going to make him stop. This is so much better. More work for him, and less for me. And he doesn't seem to mind it at all.

We shuffle our way higher and higher until we finally reach the plateau. I can see that the path before us leads directly into a pair of massive stone archways, from which there escapes a warm, hot glow. It's like a fire castle. I want to voice that observation aloud, but I'm not as drunk anymore, and I keep it to myself. I smell smoke in the cold, still air, and I can feel the heat coming from the doors. We're a good hundred yards away from the inner entrance, but it's already warmer, and that makes me feel better about where we are going. Fyr lets me walk beside him now that I don't have to literally follow in his footsteps.

"Ah, the distinct stench of sweat and hard labor," Fyr sighs.

"I haven't had a chance to shower or bathe since I got here," I defend myself, a little sensitive after his comment from this morning. He'd told me I reek of arcane, whatever that means.

"No, the city," he corrects in humor. "The smoke, it... Nevermind."

I want to say something like, 'I knew that,' but I don't. I wish I did, but instead, I blurt, "Well, you stink, too," before I'm able to stop myself, and then I pretend he doesn't exist so I don't get embarrassed. He doesn't stink. He smells like pine trees. But I'm not going to say that; it'd either creep him out or inflate his ego.

I notice that he reacts to that comment of mine with a silent, possibly-mocking laugh through his nose, and he's still subtly smiling when we walk inside.

There's a long entrance with tall stone statues and a golden-red glow coming from behind a huge statue of a stocky bearded fellow. The ceilings stretch high, high above us, and I become entranced by them, staring upward while I walk.

This is a mistake, because my boot hits something hard, and I trip forward into a short flight of stone stairs leading upward. My knees hit first, and then my arms, and I swear sharply under my breath at the sudden pain that shoots into my broken arm thanks to the impact.

Laughter erupts from the top of the stairs, and I whip my head toward its source.

"Ought to watch yer step, Lassie," a gruff, growly voice chuckles. It came from a very stout, short man with a red beard that reaches past his belly. Beside him is another equal in height, only this guy has pitch black, wiry hair and greyish skin. They can't be more than four feet tall, I'll bet. The first one reminds me of that dwarf from the _Lord of the Rings_ movies, the grumpy one with the axe. He actually does have an axe. Both of them do. They're dressed in matching armor, like guards or something.

I stand slowly and nurse my arm in its sling. It's throbbing like hell right now, and with every throb the pain grows stronger. I want another one of those healing cordials, but I don't want to ask for one right now, because Mister High-And-Mighty here will scold me for not paying attention. But if I wait long enough, he won't relate it to the fall. Probably.

Fyr has already scaled the stairs and is digging through his backpack for something. I'm silent as I return to his side, and he glances sideways at me and then shoves something into my good hand. It's my purse.

"You've had this with you the whole time?" I gush, feeling relief and a sense of familiar comfort rushing through me as I open it up with one-handed difficulty and see all of my belongings still inside. I thought I'd forgotten it back with that ginger-headed linguist magician.

"Thought you knew," he continues rifling through his bag. "Produce your identification. We'll need it to enter the city and to travel between major hubs." I see him find what he's looking for and give it to the short guards. It looks like a small paper scroll, which he stores in a worn leather casing. He looks at me again for half a second. "Your arm hurting? Looked as if you struck it fairly hard with that fall."

I freeze, weighing my options on how to respond, and decide that if there's any chance he'll give me a cordial, I'll sacrifice my pride.

"Yes, I landed on it."

"I'll give you a potion once we're inside." Then he points at my purse impatiently, "Identification, Ava." And he actually snaps his finger once. I want to bite it off.

"Patience, asshole, I'm one-handed," I grumble under my breath, knowing he'll hear me, and pull my driver's license out of my wallet. I pass it down to the redheaded man. It's nothing like what Fyr gave them, but maybe it will work.

It doesn't work.

"What in Muradin's beard did ye' just hand me?" the dwarf peers at it, squinting and scrunching up his already somewhat-scrunched face, and then he turns it over. "Wha's this made of?" He tries to bend the plastic a little too far, and I cringe.

The other guy, interested, leans in and tilts his head. Then he looks at me, and back at it. "That's her face on it clear as day, but tinier than me' thumbnail. An' this lettering here? Never seen a thing like it."

Even Fyr appears interested, as his eyes linger on it for a few seconds, but he doesn't say anything or make any other move to look at it closer.

The first dwarf shoves it back at me. "Fancy as it is, this ain't valid for identification, Lass. Yer real passport papers, please?"

"I don't have any papers," I say slowly and take the ID back. "And I don't have a passport on me."

Fyr swipes the ID from my hand and inspects it curiously, and he looks at me with disbelief. "You're from Elwynn. You must have traveled into the city at some point. You should know how this works."

"Hold on, I'm not _from_ Elwynn," I retort quickly with a panicked look. That's what he thinks?

"You told me you were," his expression begins to mirror mine, but with less panic and more confusion and frustration.

"I never said that! I've told you countless times that I'm from Earth, but you wouldn't fucking listen to me!"

Fyr's hand clenches tightly around my ID. I think he forgot he has it in his hand. When he talks, his voice is low, slow and restrained. "I asked if you were from a place with only humans," he pauses for effect, staring at me, "which is _Elwynn_ , and you said yes."

"Not to the Elwynn part, you never said that!" My voice rises. "I'm not from your world, Fyr! I am not from..." I take a moment to remember what he'd called this place last night, "From Azeroth! I thought you understood!"

His eyes widen. Something in his brain finally clicked, and his stare darts between my eyes in surprise.

The dark-complected guard interrupts us. "Listen, if ye' want to sort out yer dilemma and get a temporary passport, I'll escort you to the bureau. Elsewise, I'll only ask once for ye' both to take this racket outside. Ye' can cool yer heads off in the snow." That last part was grumbled, and I'm pretty sure I saw an eye-roll.

"Just take us to the office," Fyr holds up his hand. "Either way, we have to at least enter the city."

The guard nods and turns around. "Follow me."

In the split second before he starts after the guard, Fyr clenches his jaw and look down at me again. That momentary look on his face was one of uneasiness, and that makes me uneasy, too. He was taking me to the wrong place. He doesn't know how to take me home, does he?

* * *

So, this 'bureau' we're in is seriously nothing more than a poorly-lit, dusty room packed with people that reminds me of a DMV or a courthouse. We even have to take a number and sit in a cramped space for what has to be an hour, surrounded by all sorts of people and creatures I never want to see again. Fyr and I don't talk, and for the most part, I keep my eyes on my lap. The less I see here, the saner I'll stay. I'm pretty sure there's a werewolf or something sitting next to me, but I don't allow myself to confirm.

When we are finally called to the front desk, Fyr tells the blonde dwarf woman there what we need, and she says that they require at least one form of identification for a temp passport.

This upsets Fyr, who explains to her that I have literally nothing. But she says something to the equivalent of 'tough luck' and says that I need to head back to my home city and get a copy of the archived census and ID papers in order to get a passport.

Which puts us right back to square one.

Seriously, for a fantasy-like world half-filled with Tolkien impersonations and fairy tales, this place still has its share of familiar bullshit office policies. At least it's helping me feel more at-home. People are people, everywhere you go.

Fyr, though, gets legitimately upset. He looks like he did the night I met him, all heated and frowning, with that glint of anger in his eye.

"If you turn us out, she has _no_ way of getting home," he accuses, and leans one big fist against the counter in front of us. "You're telling me that we cannot enter this city just because you can't write up a shitty little piece of paper in what would probably take two minutes?" His voice has risen now from when he was speaking earlier, and a few people around us stare in our direction. I guess an angry, gigantic purple man interests anyone, not just outlanders like myself.

"I can'nae give ye' a passport just because ye' talk louder," she snorts and waves him aside. "And I ne'er said that _you_ couldn't enter the city, just yer lass, until she's armed with the proper identification, understand? In the meantime, we have an inn here dedicated to transient travelers where she can stay until you figure something out. Now move aside and let me continue on with my work."

Fyr doesn't budge, just glares.

The dwarf glares back at him, her lips forming a flat line. "Now ye' listen here, ye' bloody oaf. Ye' can't intimidate me just with yer posture. No identification, no passport. I won't risk me job for a ramshackle pair of shifty travelers."

He leans harder against the counter, now putting most of his weight onto his elbow, and he takes a different, less-imposing approach. "Look, I waited an hour. Give me two minutes. Write the damn passport. Make an exception." He glances at me and nods his head toward me. "I mean, look at her. She's harmless."

I narrow my eyes, but I'm smart enough not to argue with him, even though I am pretty sure I should feel a little insulted by the way he said it.

She shrugs. "I need identif-"

I butt into the conversation. "What kinds of identification do you accept?"

"Official Alliance papers only."

"Do you take bribes?" I grumble under my breath.

"Ye' got anything I want?" she responds, to my surprise. She's quieted her voice. She's serious.

Hopeful, I give her an anticipatory look, and speak quietly as well. "I mean, maybe. I don't have money on me, but I have some stuff." I pull out my purse.

"Unless you've a pair of fancy fur boots in there with therapeutic soles, save yer time," she shakes her head. "Gold? That, I'll consider."

I look to Fyr. He takes a second, and then realizes we've both turned to him and are waiting on him to say something. He shakes his head hard.

"No," he refuses sharply. He says the word loudly enough that again, a few people stare our way. One of them is hooded, seated, and steals my attention for a good three seconds (which is a lot longer than one might think), and then I snap back to the stubborn elf beside me.

"What other choice do we have?" I plead.

Fyr sends the dwarf a snide sneer. "How about you write up that identification, or I'll report you for attempting bribes from customers?"

I groan inwardly as all my hard work swirls down the drain, and the dwarf's expression flips to an extreme cold.

"I've had enough of you, now, elf. You've missed yer chance; now, get the hell out."

"Wait, please," I plead. "I'm begging you. And I don't beg, so please know this is a big deal."

Toward me, she's not quite so angry, but still resigned. "I'm sorry, lassie, but-" she pauses, a thoughtful, intrigued look crossing over her features. "Wait a moment. I may be able to help ye' out. It's a bit of a round-about way, and you may hate it, but it's an option. Official licenses, both professional and marital, are accepted as proof of self. If you can supply any of those, I can make you a temporary identification paper. And with that, I can give ye' a passport."

"I don't have either of those types of licenses," I say slowly.

"But I can give ye' the latter. We do provide marriage licenses here. Ye' supply me with a couple gold, I'll disregard any need for a witness and you can have yer license. What do you say, you two ready to take the next step?"

I give her a look of pure confusion at the same time as Fyr interrupts.

"No. Nope, no. No. I don't care how badly we need a passport, that's not happening."

"Wait, what?" I blink a few times, and now it's my turn to raise my volume, garnering more attention. I see the hooded guy hasn't stopped staring. "You mean if I want identification, I need to marry _him?_ What kind of fucked up-"

"It's not happening, so it doesn't matter," Fyr plants his gigantic hand on my shoulder, and he yanks me away from the counter before the woman can even try to explain her case any further. He drags me to the other end of the room, so we have some space.

He runs his big hand through his thick hair in rampant thought.

"I'm, uh, going to head into the city and try to find us a shady mage, one who'll port and won't ask questions. Just...wait here. There's an inn attached to this place, like she said. Shouldn't cost more than half a silver to rent a bed, if it gets late, but just in case-" He withdraws two silver coins, and puts them in my good hand. "Extras for food. I'll be back within twenty-four hours, regardless of whether I find a mage or not."

I'm flustered that he's leaving me alone here in a place full of creatures and unfamiliar faces for an entire day, but I grit my teeth and nod curtly, not letting my nervousness surface. I can handle myself. Just treat it like someplace at home. Easy.

Still, though, his eyes dart between mine like he's reading me, and then somewhat awkwardly, he reaches out and pats my shoulder. "Everything is going to be okay. Stay put."

Then he turns and leaves in a matter of seconds, parting the room as he walks through due to his size. Grimacing, I slump down into a bench beside me, sliding as far into it as I can and trying to appear smaller and unnoticeable by the people around me.

I'm not very good at it, because the hooded man, the one who had stared at us when Fyr and I were at the counter, approaches me directly, plants himself into the seat beside me, and drops his hood to his shoulders. Out pops a full head of rich, shaggy curls, black in this light but nowhere near as black as my own hair, which run wildly around his face and almost to his shoulders. He has a youthful, tanned face, and large hazel green eyes surrounded by dark, thick lashes. My stomach flip-flops, and my eyes widen. God, he's hot. Plus, he's human.

He looks me square in the face, and I barely even breathe when he smiles. His lips are thin and delicate and his mouth is wide, and when he grins, dimples form on his cheeks. He has good teeth, too. A lot of people I've seen in this world can't say the same.

I'm so overwhelmed by his appearance that I forget to keep my expression flat. I'm pretty sure my eyes are bugging, and I'm so disgruntled that my chin is receding into my neck as I stare at him sideways. Not an attractive look, obviously.

"Hey, Gorgeous. I overheard your predicament," he says in a voice equally as alluring, and I take a few beats to compose myself. He's sitting too closely.

"It's a small room. Not hard to do," I grumble and look forward, so he's only visible in my peripheral. He wants something.

"Give credit where it's due; your tall friend has quite an emphatic timbre," he laughs through his nose effortlessly, and he leans forward til his elbows rest on his knees, so that he can get a better look of my face (or maybe just to make me look at him again), and peers sideways at me. "Trying to reach Stormwind?"

"Not anymore. Apparently I'm stuck here." I stare ahead.

"So, what _are_ you still doing here?"

"Waiting on my traveling partner."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'?" I look at him again. He has this impish look on his face that shows he's obviously trying to frustrate me. What the hell? I don't even know this guy. Do I just have one of those faces? I'm liking him less and less from when he sat down beside me.

"You said you're stuck, which means you aren't traveling. Doesn't this negate your need for a 'traveling partner'? Why not just leave?"

"What do you care?"

"Well," he tilts his head, eyes not wavering from mine. I'm pretty sure he hasn't blinked yet. It's kind of creepy. "Unless you plan on sitting on this bench for eternity, you'll need a place to stay, and in order to get one of those, you need money. You following?"

"I already have that taken care of." I show him the two silver coins in my hand that I've held a death grip on since they came into my possession.

He looks at them thoughtfully, and his green eyes dart back up to mine. "Fine, then. New proposition: I can get you what you want."

I wait for him to keep speaking. He takes the cue.

"If I help you secure your identification papers, will you do something for me in repayment?"

"How would you manage that?"

"Simple," he shrugs, "We marry."

I let out a sputtering laugh unintentionally. "Fuck off."

"I'm serious," he laughs, leaning closer to me as if about to reveal a secret. _Fuck._ He's even hotter up close. I can't catch a break. "Sure, your elf toy chickened out, but if you want it as badly as I think you do, you'll do it. I'll even put in enough money that our clerk won't afford to decline."

"No." I scoot away from him as well as I can, but I only have about an inch of room as it is. Our legs are still touching on the seat, and it's distracting.

"It'll only take as long as filling out the license," he coaxes.

"What kind of marriage doesn't use an ordained official?" I scoff.

"You know there are marriage rituals different than those of humans, right?" he snickers at me, like I just asked the stupidest question. "This is just something to help consolidate them to public records."

For the first time, I decide to genuinely think about it. I'm not even from here. What does it matter if I sign a stupid license or not, if I'll be leaving eventually? Clearly this guy only wants it for a trade. He's not being weird about it, at least. Am I desperate enough to marry this guy whose name I don't even know, just to get the privileges I need to travel?

Well, what if it's my only way of getting home, one way or another?

As if reading my mind, the handsome, somewhat irritating man folds his hands together and relaxes back in his seat. "I'm offering you a job. You're one of the only ones here who looks desperate enough to do it."

"What kind of job?" I can't believe I just asked him that. Did I just accept his weird proposal?

He leans in close to me again. "All I need is a distraction long enough for me to..." he hesitates. "Well, I don't need to delve into specifics. Distract the two clerks at the counter for me once we've gotten your identification and passport. That's all I want. Thirty seconds, even."

"Distract them? How?"

"Doesn't matter. Just keep their attention on you. Sixty seconds is all I ask. Do we have a deal?"

I stare at him, contemplating hard. This guy is trouble. I know he's trouble. I know he's probably a huge mistake. But what if he isn't? What if there's no other way? I help him, he helps me. Honestly, this isn't the worst or weirdest thing I've ever done.

"We have a deal," I give him my hand to shake.

I see clear excitement spark in his eyes, and a corner of his mouth tugs upward. "Perfect. The name's James Warden, by the way. I do not know your surname, Ava."

"Warner."

"Pleasure."

He stands, shakes my hand with his gloved one, and uses the handshake to pull me up as well. I note that he's about five inches taller than me, covered in fitted, dark clothing and leather armor.

We head to the dwarf lady from before, without taking a number or getting in line. Even though we do butt in front of someone else, the clerk doesn't care, and she looks at me with one raised brow.

"Back fer more?" she asks curiously. I hear the guy we cut in front of complaining behind me, and I try to block him out.

"I uh," I clear my throat. "About that m-marriage thing?"

James smiles smoothly, a smile I can tell he's used to charm the pants off of anybody and everybody he wants. "Ava and I would like to fill out a license, followed by a substitute identification paper for her, and a passport."

"And who're you?" she asks him. She's not at all rude, though. I think she likes him. Obviously, with his face like that.

He dips his head and quietly slides a pair of shiny, golden coins across the counter, "A helping hand." He winks at her. He knows, just as well as she, that this is a scam. She was the one to come up with it in the first place, for goodness' sake. She doesn't actually care who he is.

Taking the coins, she gains a triumphant smile. "Give me one moment," she requests, leaving her seat and digging into a nearby filing drawer. She pulls out a small, off-white scroll of thick parchment and unrolls it before us. "This won't take long. All I need is yer names, dates of birth, date of marriage, and affiliations. I won't ask for yer papers or a witness, thanks to the money." Saying that last part quietly, she dips a quill and hands it to James.

He begins scrawling everything into the parchment, so much so that I realize he's filling literally everything out, including information on me that he can't possibly know. But, I realize, I don't care. I really don't care. As long as it lets me into the city, it could say I'm a disease-riddled cow.

"Sign here," James points to a line at the bottom left of the paper, finally. I sign it without question, and horribly so. I've never used a quill, and it takes me far too long to just get the ink to flow right. The signature is entirely illegible. James laughs at my struggle, signs his name perfectly, and hands it to the dwarf.

She takes it, reads it, and nods. "All right. Let me archive a permanent copy of this, and I'll be back with yer other papers shortly."

"It's that easy?" I glance at James. He's leaning an elbow on the counter nonchalantly, and he gives me a suave smile.

"It's that easy."

"Well, thanks," I blink a few times. "Hey, what all did you write on there about me?"

"Well, I said we are James and Ava Warden, you're twenty-three years old, and that we got married in late August on my uncle's farm."

I actually am twenty-three; I'm surprised he guessed right. I wonder how old he is.

"And how much of that holds any truth to it at all?"

"None of it." He sounds smug.

"Not even your last name?" I mean it to be a joke.

"Reid, actually."

"Of course," I roll my eyes. Married a guy and I didn't even know his name. My mother would be so ashamed.

The dwarf returns with my papers and has us fill out everything necessary. She plants a stamped seal on both, rolls them up, and places them in a brand new small container like the one Fyr had.

James takes it and stuffs it in my purse that I have looped over my broken arm, so that I won't have to worry about it.

"Ready to perform your half?" He leans in and whispers in my ear.

"Um, yeah, I can do this," I accidentally pep myself out loud. He smirks and pats me on the back.

"Yes, you can. Make it good, Love." He still whispers, and with that he walks over to the side of the room, pulls his hood over his head, and calmly waits for me to make my move.

I'm still standing in the way of the guy we cut off. He's been pestering us this entire time to move, and I turn my head sideways and glance at him in my peripheral. He's pretty average-looking. Human, mid-thirties, kind of short in height. He looks very impatient, and as he reaches a hand out to tap my arm for the fourth time in the past few minutes, I seize the opportunity.

I grab his hand before it touches me and start shouting my freaking head off.

"LOOK WHAT I FOUND IN MY POCKET!" I'm surprised at my own volume, but I keep going, not letting go of the guy's hand even though he tries to yank it away in shock.

"THIEF!" I screech, repeatedly. Everybody in the _entire_ room is staring at me. At least I'm doing it right. In that split-second of pause, the figure I've been watching that is James somehow flickers completely out of sight. He vanishes. All I see is a quick, fleeting shadow of him, and then nothing. He can turn invisible?

"I didn't-" the poor guy argues frantically, but I cut him off once I shake myself of the shock at what I just saw.

"AND IN MY _ASS_ POCKET, NO LESS! PERVERT! THIEF! GUARDS! POLICE!"

At least four people advance to my rescue, but I keep screaming my head off about how my offender must have thought that he could get away with it, but not with _me_ , Buster, and how horrible he is to steal from an injured woman, and how I'm going to not only have him arrested but everyone who saw it happening that didn't intervene, and I then point straight at both clerks at the counter.

"And YOU!" I accuse, "You saw the whole thing happen and didn't warn me?"

"He was just makin' to scoot yeh aside because ye' cut in line-" the dwarf who'd given me my papers tries to explain.

"Oh, sure!" I shout back, still not having released the man's wrist, "So he could rob me!"

"I don't see anything in your pockets!" the guy tries to pull his hand away again, failing.

"BECAUSE YOU PROBABLY STOLE EVERYTHING! SOMEONE ARREST HIM!" I screech, right as a hand nudges my shoulder. I glance over. It's James. He looks...happy, I guess. He's removed his hood. Apparently he got what he wanted.

"Now, Ava," James starts out in a tone so pretentiously patronizing that I have to bite the inside of my cheek not to laugh, "let the nice man go. He didn't mean any harm."

Everyone around us is staring.

"But he-!" I play into the act.

"I saw what happened. He wasn't stealing, Love. Come on, let's go somewhere we can calm down."

I release the bewildered man's hand, and he stumbles a good five feet away from us, holding his wrist. I pretend to be just as confused now, playing up the crazy act as James loops an arm around me and escorts me out of the room and into what I've been told is the adjacent inn. I'm sure everyone's viewing him as a saint right now, saving them from the psycho bitch. That strikes me funny, and I start giggling to myself.

The buzz of conversation picks up behind us as we leave, and I continue giggling after we head through two sets of heavy wooden doors and enter a very warm room with a roaring fire at one end.

James chuckles, turning toward me. "Well done, Ava!" his laugh is attractive, especially since he's praising me. "You're a better partner in crime than any can ask for."

"Oh, I'm a criminal now, am I?" I let him lead us to a small table near a stone wall by the hearth. The room has low wooden rafters and is lit only with gas lanterns on each table and the fire at the one wall. There's a bar on the other side, manned by one guy and occupied by three people. And at the end where we came in, there's a stairway leading upward, probably for overnight rentals.

James nods. "First you bribed a government officer, then you aided in stealing from one. I'd say you fit the persona well now."

"Stealing from one? What'd you steal?"

I guess my question is relaxed enough that he feels comfortable to answer. After all, what would I do, report us both?

"Warrant for my arrest," he says, then pauses as a dwarven serving girl appears at our table and offers tankards of dark, dry stout. James lifts his brows at me, asking wordlessly if I want any.

"If you're paying," I shrug, and he smirks and takes two steins, sliding one to me across the wooden table, where it spills a few drops but nothing significant. He places some copper coins on the girl's drink platter, and she saunters away.

"Thank you," I take the sturdy handle of my drink.

"Aye." James holds his up, "Cheers to teamwork."

I clank mine against his, and we both drink up. This stuff is strong, too, maybe even stronger than what I had earlier with Fyr in that first bar. It's definitely darker, velvety, and bittersweet. It's like burnt, smooth, bitter cocoa that packs a punch. It's good. Really good. I've never had anything this rich.

I set it down. "Wow, that's fucking amazing," I say mostly to myself. I drink more of it; it tastes good enough that I could drink the whole thing in one try, if I wanted to.

"Dwarven stout, in its birthplace. Nothing like it anywhere in the world."

I tilt my head and stare at him. "So, as you were saying, about an arrest warrant..."

James leans against the back of his seat, relaxing, and runs his long fingers through his curls. "Yeah. I've been doing this criminal thing a little longer than you."

"What's the warrant for? You didn't kill anyone, did you?" I'm surprised at my own lax attitude in the question.

"Nah, not my style. Forgeries, stealing, that's more me."

"What kind of forgeries?" I lean forward, nursing my drink as I stare at him. Part of me does have a problem with liars and criminals. But the other part of me, the aiding and abetting part, is fascinated and impressed at the skill that takes.

"Bank vouchers, coin production, identification papers and passports, the usual."

"You make counterfeit money?"

"Well, the warrant is out because I stole coin face molds. Then I got caught and jailed. That happened about a month ago. Of course, I escaped, or else I wouldn't be here now. But they took my name, and they sent warrants off to every Alliance bureau in the Eastern Kingdoms. I'm stealing and destroying the warrant copies now. They send out watchlist updates weekly; once I remove my name from the pool, I'll have it back to myself. Traveling under alias gets old."

"How many warrants have you taken back now?"

"With the one you just helped me steal, that brings me to a grand total of one."

"Oh, jeez," I roll my eyes. He tilts his head slightly at that, but doesn't say anything. I guess 'jeez' isn't a normal saying here.

"I did steal my original papers back from my captors last month, so they don't have that saved. Just the warrants they sent out. I already solved the hard part."

"Well, good for you," I smirk, and drink more. I'm trying to pace myself this time around, but I'm already finishing off my first drink. It tastes too damn good. I already got drunk once today; it could happen easier the second time around. This is so unlike me, to get drunk, but it's not beneath me.

James nods. "I may have also taken their stamps, since your distraction worked so well. And this," he holds up a small, palm-sized velvet cinched sack that jingles with coins.

"Wow, okay. You sure they won't come looking for you?"

"Why would they come after me? I'm their savior," he grins and winks.

I relent and laugh. I take a drink, but I'm not entirely sure I should let my guard down with this James. He's freely admitted he's a thief. I take my two silver and shove them deep in my pocket.

My drink is refreshed by the serving girl before it's totally gone. I want to give her a big tip, but all I have are silver coins and I think those are worth a lot more than copper.

James and I both take healthy drinks of our stout, reaching a point of silence. He studies me, his eyes stuck on mine, slightly narrowed.

"Where are you from?" he sets down his stein.

I can feel my first pint seeping into my nerves, making me feel relaxed. I give a wry laugh. "You want the full answer?"

"If it's the truth, then surely. Time is no issue here." He leans back, like he's settling in to listen.

So, I tell him. I tell him my whole story. From the bike to the lightning to the bandits, to the teleporting and the cows and aliens. The only thing I leave out is the creepy dream I had about Fyr.

By the end, James is leaning with both elbows on the table, his thick, symmetrical brows arched in intrigue. "So, you're telling me you've never heard of anything here? Nothing at all? No elves, magic, taurens, nothing?"

I nod my head, and take a deep gulp - or three - of stout to refresh the buzz I feel in my lips and fingertips.

"Amazing," he has a subtle smile taking root in the corners of his lips. He interrupts my staring by gulping down the rest of his drink and requesting another for both of us.

He returns his attention to me. "I've never heard of a thing like that. Your world must be so bland."

"It's not bland," I argue. "It's just consistent. And it's my home."

"Of course," he backs off. "I just can't imagine a world without everything that I call way-of-life."

"Mm," I hum and nod.

Another break in conversation hits then, where we're just sitting there looking at each other. He's too pretty for me to stare at; I'm entirely sure that if I look at him for too long, I'll feel inadequate.

I feel the urge to look at a smartphone to break the tension here, if only it worked. I feel uncomfortable, but he looks so at ease. It's unfair.

As soon as the new drinks arrive, I throw my caution to the wind and drink deeply, hoping it will calm my nerves.

When he sees me go to town on my drink, James tries to keep up, copying me and tilting the cup to his lips. He drinks as long as I do, and when I set mine down, he does. I've downed nearly the whole pint, and my stomach feels so full. I already feel the ties in my mind breaking, all of me becoming looser and open. This is much better. I can't feel my lips.

Now that I'm drunk, I can comfortably stare at him. And I do. And he stares back. He has such pretty, long eyelashes. They're so thick it looks like he's wearing eyeliner. And did I mention he's human? He's already winning in both of my worlds; I don't feel weird being so attracted to him.

"You're staring at me," he murmurs.

"I'm crushing pretty hard," I shrug.

"Indeed?" he smirks lopsidedly and points between us. "Wanna consummate this thing?"

I bust into snorting laughter, and he does too, the two of us melting into stupid giggles over our drinks.

"That is the most unique pick-up line I've ever received," I snicker.

"I've given weirder."

"They ever work?"

"Every time," he winks at me. His wink is slow, and it finishes as a regular blink. He's as drunk as I am. That makes me feel better.

"Slut," I grunt, and he just grins with no argument. I reach into my pocket and pull out the two silver coins. "I need to buy a room."

"One more before we call it a night?" James coaxes, referring to our drinks. "I haven't had an evening like this in some time. It's nice."

I think about it. I haven't either, to be honest. This really has been nice. After the stress of the past forty-eight hours, this feels like a vacation, thanks to the guy sitting in front of me. He has been so helpful.

Seems I just said literally all of those thoughts out loud, because he responds to them.

"Anything for a pretty face," he smiles so charmingly that I want to smack him for being so pretty. He orders two half-pints, which arrive soon enough. We clink our glasses together without planning it and down them easily.

Now I feel so full that I know I couldn't drink more if I tried. I know I'm going to be hungover. I stand from my seat, and the room spins. Somehow I stay balanced, despite how lightheaded I feel. What I just consumed is going to hit me in about five minutes, and I am not going to remember anything from this point on. I need to buy a room, like, now.

James loops a hand around my unbroken arm to either steady me or himself, I'm not sure which, and we walk to the bar. He takes one of the silvers I've kept in my pocket and gives it to the guy there, who gives me an old-fashioned skeleton key.

Before we turn around, I remember something. I turn to the stocky bartender again. "Hey," I call out, and he comes back.

"Yes?"

"Can I leave a message with you for someone?"

He nods.

"This guy, big purple elf, his name's Fyr. He's coming back at some point tonight, or tomorrow morning, or something. If he comes here looking for me, tell him what room I'm staying in please? My name's Ava."

"Sure thing, Lassie. Now you two go find yourself a bed and sleep yer drink off." He says all this while scribbling a note onto a rough piece of parchment, which he impales on the hook that'd held my key.

We walk away, and I can feel myself becoming so drunk that my brain is humming.

Somehow we make it up the uneven, steep stairs, and at that point, James starts laughing pretty hard.

"Ava, please, shut up."

"Mmm-I'm not-" I start to talk, and then I notice that I was humming out loud. It wasn't my brain. "Sorry."

He's still laughing when we find my door. He gives me the key.

"Think you can figure it out from here?" he asks, still laughing. I nod.

He pats me on the shoulder. "Good luck, Love. I had a lovely time. Hope you find your way home. I'd give suggestions, if I weren't so drunk."

Then he turns to go, as I'm trying to fit the key in the hole.

"Jam-," I start to say his name, and I realize I'm about to slur it, so I say it again. "James," I request, proud at how crisp it was the second time around.

"Yes," he turns. He hasn't made it more than two feet.

"You're a very attractive man."

"And you're a very attractive woman."

"And I would like to kiss you now, if you'll let me," I lean on my still-locked door, twirling the key in my fingers. I've given up on the lock.

"We're not going to remember it in the morning," he says as he steps in toward me.

I reach out and tug him in by his arm, until he's only a breath away. "We'll feel it now. That a yes or a no?"

He presses into me, and his smile melts against mine. I deepen the kiss and unintentionally bite his lower lip, but he does it back, and I give a hum of enjoyment. I pull away, reluctantly.

"Can you give a shot at the lock? I can't open it for the life of me."

"You've come to the right rogue," he takes the key from my hand and, after a few failed attempts, fits it properly and turns. The door gives way behind us, and because I'm leaning on it, I nearly fall backward on my ass, stumbling a few hard steps into the tiny, dark room. James erupts in a fit of laughter, and I join in, grabbing his shirt and yanking him in to join me.

* * *

Flip.

Flip.

Flip.

Every time I hear the sound of paper pages turning, I wake just a tiny bit more.

Flip.

Flip.

"Hmmph."

 _What?_

Paper isn't a very alarming sound to wake up to. A man's voice, however, can be incredibly alarming when you're not used to waking to one.

My eyes fly open, and I look over my shoulder at the direction of the grunt. My vision is blurred and groggy, but I make out the general form: tall, lean, purple. Fyr. It looks like he's going through a collection of papers. Maybe they're my identification papers. Maybe they're James's.

"Fyr?" my own voice is is throaty and tired. I rub my eyes. "What are you-GAHH!" I startle when the blankets beside me move, and I nearly jump out of bed entirely when I see there's a person beside me sleeping. Through my adrenaline, I feel that static-y feeling in my skin and in the blankets. It's the same feeling I got out in that storm yesterday.

I try to calm myself as I stare at the man beside me. It's the guy from yesterday. James. He's sleeping all blissful and sweet, his perfect face covered partially by his dark curls. Also he's shirtless.

I'm shirtless, too. I've got my bra on, but I'm so exposed. My broken arm is out of its sling, and it is _killing_ me. It doesn't take an expert to know what happened.

"What in the fuck-?" I hiss, bewildered, trying to make sense of my surroundings as I yank the woolen blanket up over my chest and look at Fyr.

He glances at me from where he'd been poring over the papers. His glowing eyes seem calm.

"Morning," he greets in his deep, smooth voice. "Eloquent as ever, Ava." He seems perfectly fine, whereas I'm going out of my mind.

"Fyr, what're you-" I start to ask questions, but my voice wakes James, who inhales deeply and flutters his eyes open. He looks at me first, then at Fyr across the room, and squints his eyes, leaning up onto his elbows. His hair-lined stomach flexes attractively when he does it. The blanket rests conveniently just under his belly button, and I realize my number one question right now is whether or not he's wearing anything beneath it.

"Now, I unfortunately don't remember _everything,_ but I do know you weren't here with us last night," he comments to Fyr in a joking manner. "Would've made for an entirely different experience."

"Hmm. James Reid. Nice to finally put a face to the name on this list," Fyr hums calmly, waving a set of papers that I'm assuming are James's identification. He leans against the frame of the closed door behind him, blocking it. "James, I'm bounty hunter Aerefyr Darkeye, and you're under arrest."

* * *

 _A/N_

 _Thanks for your patience. Classes started up again and they take precedence._

 _Thank you to all who've supported this story. I've much more to come, and I hope it keeps your interest. I know I've got some twists in here that may throw a good portion of readers, but I hope they aren't too damning._

 _Review 1: dontaskimdisappointed - Wow, thank you! I am so flattered. I hope you continue to enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it._

 _Review 2: MelanaAdara - Thank you, and thank you for reviewing!_

 _Review 3: amatheara88 - Thank you very much! And I'm glad you caught that. :)_

 _Review 4: HeavenBent - I'm beginning to sound like a broken record, but I mean it: thank you for your encouragement!_

 _Review 5: 89 - Thanks! I'm glad it works for you. It's the first first-person narrative I've ever written, too, so looks like we're both giving it a try, lol._


	4. Chapter 4: Hermetic Medics

Rather than promptly reacting to Fyr's statement, James first rubs his eyes as he yawns, and he turns his gaze on me. His shadowed eyes drift over my bare skin. He delivers to me a sleepy grin, sighs deeply, and squints at the night elf with disinterest.

"Interrupt a man's sleep only to arrest him?" He sits up a little further. "How'd you get my papers, anyway? I keep them...hidden..." he trails off as he sees that his belongings have been discovered and scattered all along the table next to Fyr, everything dug out and disorganized. He grimaces.

I've clutched my blanket over myself, and I swallow down my self-consciousness. "Throw me my clothes, please."

My bra is hooked improperly in the back; I must've tried and failed to put it back on last night. At least I'm wearing it.

Perturbed, Fyr's silver eyes come to rest on me and don't leave, and he holds an air of question to him. I realize that his expression is a product of neither James nor I reacting as intended to his grand entrance, and it makes me feel pretty smug that he's put-off.

"There," I point by his feet, where everything but my underclothes lay in a pile. "Please?"

Remaining where he is, he scoops all of it and tosses the pile onto me. Careful with my arm, I tug my red shirt over my head for day three; I'm going to need different clothes as soon as possible. With the movement of donning my top, my head swims, and I feel nauseated. Hello, hangover.

I look around for my sling, but I don't see it.

"I feel like I'll need an hour or two to wake up," I grunt reluctantly, trying to straighten my uncomfortable bra straps through my shirt. I hate sleeping in a bra. I don't know why I did. Drunk me is stupid.

"Right, well, if this room had windows, you'd know that it's high noon," Fyr lectures me as he starts to stack up all the papers and stuff everything into his old backpack. "In any case, I don't know whether to condemn or praise you for serving this man to me on a platter. You don't cease to surprise me, Ava."

I hear a healthy dose of spite in his last sentence, and I prickle, biting my tongue to hold back words that I know won't make a dent.

"A platter? I'm not a piece of meat," James chuckles in mock offense, sneaking me a grin both wicked and charming to boot. He hasn't yet moved from his spot beside me.

"Correct. You're a criminal, and a valuable one. You've got quite a bounty on you, Reid." Fyr folds his arms.

"Hm. Will you take a payoff?" James leans forward, resting an elbow on his knee through the blanket. The dark waistline of his drawers peek out from under the blankets. So, he's at least halfway clothed. I'm mostly relieved.

Fyr still blocks the doorway with his huge frame. "This list I have in here," he points in his bag, "has your name on it, and I intend to do my job. Honest pay, else I end up on there myself."

James swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands up straight. He's wearing those dark pants that hug his legs. "I really don't want to oppose you, but I will, if you force my hand."

Fyr reacts with a humorless, dark sneer, and his silver eyes glint dangerously. "Sounds like an invitation."

Hell, that look in his eyes and the steel in his voice gives _me_ goosebumps. I can't imagine how I'd feel if it were directed toward me.

"Wait!" I bark, heart thumping as I realize they might break into a brawl at any second. This room is way too small for a fight, and I'd be caught in the crossfire. My words spill out of my mouth at full speed. "Wait, Fyr, forget you saw him. Take his payoff. He helped me get what I need. What we need."

Fyr arches his brows sharply, accusingly, and his tone is sarcastic as he looks upon my lack of clothing. "And he received nothing in return, I take it?"

"Well..." I flounder. "I mean, it's not like _this_ was his payment," I point between James and me.

He holds up a hand to stop me. "I care little, regardless," he sighs. "Your involvement ends here."

"Someone's going to get hurt," I argue. _"Really_ hurt." I have a feeling that Fyr's size is the winning factor here. He towers over James by probably a foot, and easily weighs twice as much. And as previously noted, this room is freaking tiny; James has nowhere to go, and neither do I.

"I'll be fine," Fyr keeps his stare latched on James, who hasn't moved yet. James looks like he's sizing him up.

"I know _you_ will," I retort. Like I said, Fyr isn't the one I'm worried about.

"Hey!" James sends a glance my way. "I can handle myself," his tone is laughing, but apparently that did shake him some, because he keeps his disengaged stance. "So, Fyr, is it? Let's take a shot at talking this out."

Fyr sniffs dismissively. "Nothing to talk about. You're a wanted man; you're worth a lot of money; and I want that money."

At that statement, something in my brain snaps that I didn't know could snap, and that unanticipated anger hits me like a train. I had no idea I was this emotionally invested in this place.

"You and your _fucking_ money!" I explode, wrenching myself out of bed and stomping into my pants with major one-handed difficulty as I growl at him, and surprise flits over his eyes for a good couple seconds. "You'll ruin whomever you have to ruin just to get your goddamned payment. You don't _actually_ care about honest work! You don't give a shit about me, or helping me get home, or anything! Everything, _EVERYTHING_ , is about COINS. Well, you and your greed can enjoy a sad, lonely life, Fyr," I flip him my middle finger extravagantly by throwing my entire hand toward him for emphasis, which would've been great, but I used my broken freaking arm to do it. Big mistake.

I think I feel a 'pop', like the swollen muscles and tendons just pulled something out of place. I drop my act and give a strangled yelp as searing pain radiates through my broken elbow.

"Ohh, fuck me," I swear, slumping against the bed, tears stinging my eyes at the sheer pain in my arm. So _that_ was a moronic move if I've ever made one.

It's not letting up; it's worse with every heartbeat that throbs through the limb, and the pain jars into my shoulder, ribs, fingertips, and even my back. My emotions are running wild at this point, and my physical pain is so strong I almost can't breathe. This is way worse than it's ever been, worse than that first night I was here when it initially broke.

I hear Fyr swear under his breath, and he and James both approach me, momentarily forgetting their feud. The elf kneels so that we're eye level and reaches out to touch my shoulder, but I cringe away from him. His finger brushes my shirt, and we both feel an intense _snap_ of static electricity. He yanks his hand away.

"Ava, your magic," he warns.

"Because _that's_ more important," I snap, somehow managing sarcasm despite the extreme horrid pain jazzing up and down my arm.

"What's happening?" James asks curiously from over Fyr's shoulder.

"Get away," Fyr shoves James back by his arm and stares at me intensely. "Ava, you've got to calm down, or it will overwhelm you, same as yesterday." Then he pauses, mouth held open, like he's debating whether or not to say what he says next. "I...have experience in this magic; I know how it can affect you, and that if it's this unstable, you must calm down."

"When in the history of 'calm down' has 'calm down' actually worked?" I hiss, and I hear another snap of static in my clothes. I realize something that I think I've known all along: it _is_ me, this electricity. There's no storm here this time. It's just us in a dark, stone room.

"You don't want yesterday to repeat itself, do you?" Fyr's voice is just as argumentative.

The thought of vanishing and appearing somewhere else all over again, especially after everything I went through last night to get to where I am now, is a weird combo of disappointing and alarming, and I fall into a pain-and-fear-fueled panic. I feel the static in my hands and arms crackle, buzzing around my ears. It's happening. I have to calm down, but the pressure to do so is only scaring me further.

"Is she 'porting again?" James, rather than standing by Fyr, crawls onto the bed beside me, observing me from two feet away. I'm shocked he hasn't bolted; Fyr gave him a free pass.

Fyr turns his attention to James for a brief moment, face pulled in confusion. "What do _you_ know of her teleportation-"

"Fyr, p-please, one of those th-things," I manage to gasp through gritted teeth. Just by talking, I can feel that static electricity fluctuate, charging different parts of my clothes and making my heart beat weird. Fyr was right. This isn't just electricity; it's responding to me. With that realization, I force myself into a reality check: I am in a different world, surrounded by things that can only be described as impossible. Magic isn't out of the question—if anything, it's the explanation. This is magic, not static. It was present when we teleported, and it's here now. Fyr says it is dangerous, and I don't care if this isn't my own world, it's still real life. This is serious. I have some sort of connection to it, and I can't control it? I have to control it.

How do I control it?

It's fueled by distress. I _must_ calm down.

...Easier said than done, in my state.

"Things?" Fyr lifts his brows in question, and my brain bounces back to what I'd just said.

"My arm. I can't c-calm," I gasp. "It, uh...pain. S-sorry."

He digs in an interior pocket of his bag and hands me a corked red cordial. How many of those does he have, I wonder? I'd hate to use all of them up, if they're valuable.

I take it eagerly, but my hand is shaking so hard I can't uncork it, not to mention the buzzing in my fingers is now so strong that they're numb. Letting out a nervous whimper when the electricity—er, magic—and pain double, I grow even more frustrated that I can't open it.

Thanks to the sound I make, Fyr and James realize I'm helpless at the same time, and both of them reach out to assist simultaneously. I fear what'll happen when they touch me. Fyr touched me and it zapped him; I've felt the magic get a lot stronger by this point, and I don't want them hurt. I try to pull away, but I'm given only a quarter-second of warning before their hands touch my fingers.

Sure enough, the magic reacts, and my gut feels like it's pulled from three directions. A booming 'crack' radiates outward, and next I know, I fall for a quarter of a second and land hard onto a familiar-looking forest floor. The potion I'd been holding hits the ground and shatters, its precious red liquid absorbing into the dirt and grass. My face is hit with moist, warm air, and the recognizable sounds of amphibious fauna and wind surrounding me are actually quite loud. My arm now hurts so badly that I genuinely can't breathe, and it makes me sick to my stomach. Extremely sick, so sick I can't think of anything other than the nausea that flows up and heats my ears.

Rain plinks against my face in generously thick droplets from collecting in the tree leaves overhead, and I get about two seconds to look around in mystification before I lean to my left and my stomach retches what little it contains into a clump of ferns. Debilitated, I scoot back and curl up in a fetal position right there on the ground, amidst the verdant plants and the dirt and the loud insects, and try to hold as still as possible to ease the pain in my arm. I've left behind my jacket, socks, boots, and purse, so here I lie with nothing on my person, fully ready to just curl up and give up. Considering everything, I don't think that's too dramatic. I'm failing. Everything I try to do to help my situation just crams me further into hopelessness. I've been sabotaging myself from day one.

Vaguely, I hear the two men interacting, and I can hear their footsteps tromping around the ferns and underbrush of the forest, which I'm sure I've been in before. It's got to be Feralas. The rain from yesterday hasn't let up.

"Bloody hell, she was telling the truth!" It's James. He seems...excited?

"A novel concept for you," Fyr rumbles.

"Where've we ended up, I wonder?"

"Western Feralas," the elf responds without hesitation. I don't think he's really talking to James, but more so to himself. "Right back where we started." A pause. The next sentence is spoken with an edge of concern, "And deep within Blackhand territory."

I hear him heave something over his shoulder, which I assume is his bag. At least he has that with him. Then I hear his feet crunch against twigs and stop right beside me, and his shadow covers my face.

"This is my last potion," he plants a hand on my shoulder. "Can you sit up? That limb needs re-slinging." Despite the intention in his words, he's really not all that gentle in his tone. Mostly just impatient.

I grind my teeth hard together, scrunching my eyes tightly as I swallow down my nausea. I focus on the scent of wet dirt beneath my face; weirdly enough, it's a calming smell, and it helps me to ignore the pain in my arm. He has a potion for me. It's all going to be all right.

I push myself upright by my good elbow and wipe the mud off my face as best I can, but I'm pretty sure it's streaked from the rain and can't be helped. He hands me the potion, uncorked this time, and doesn't let go until I've lifted it to my mouth and drank it.

The effects wash over me like a soft tide, and I breathe a sigh of relief. It even takes the bad taste out of my mouth. I look at Fyr in defeat, my eyes droopy. "I'm sorry. I really do have a problem."

He retrieves an off-white roll of bandage from his bag and begins to unravel it, and his pretty silver eyes analyze mine. "Yeah," he nods pragmatically, bites the strip of wide bandage, and rips off a generous length, "you do. And more than one, at that, Princess." He glances at James through the thick vines and leaves, then back at me, as he ever-so-neatly wraps the strip over my shoulder diagonally, around my elbow, and back. "One of those being your preference in paramour."

We're close enough that James can hear us, I'm sure, but I don't pay attention to that.

I narrow my eyes at the elf. "As if you, in all four-hundred-and-whatever years and with a face like yours, haven't had a one-night stand."

With this, he knots the bandage at my shoulder a little too roughly, and I wince.

"I don't sleep with scoundrels," he gives me a droll, if even comical, look from under his brows, and despite his words, I don't see _real_ judgment in his eyes. I really can't tell what to make of him.

I open my mouth to speak, but I'm abruptly cut off by James, his voice distressed, and it's accompanied by the sound of struggle.

"Your scoundrel has a problem of his own," his full voice rings out from nearby. I'd forgotten he was still with us. I'd forgotten where we were, for that matter.

Fyr and I both turn our heads and freeze.

James, in his shirtless and unarmed state, is held at knife-point by two people; one of which looks familiar, and I realize it's the same guy who'd tied me up my first night here. Blackhand thugs. Of course. Small world.

Fyr moves to stand, but he's halted by a knife at his own face, held by someone beside us. I startle. I hadn't even seen him!

"Why, look who it is," the man attached to the knife cracks as he, keeping arm's distance, orbits around Fyr until they're facing each other. He's one of the group from that first night, the ones I'd thought had spoken Russian. It wasn't Russian, because his speech is clear as day, now. "I was so hoping we'd meet again, lance-ear." He motions for one of his buddies to grab the bag from Fyr's shoulder. They'd received beatings from Fyr, and I'd guess they're salty about it.

I look to Fyr. He doesn't appear as pissed as he should be. Instead, his eyes are caught on something off in the trees. I look where he does, and from where I'm sitting, I can't quite make it out, but it looks like a person. There's a silver glow just like that of Fyr's eyes. Maybe it's another elf. The thugs don't notice the person, though, and I'm smart enough to look away and keep my mouth shut. If Fyr isn't saying or doing anything, I shouldn't.

Fyr holds entirely still while they take his things, chin lifted an inch. "Sorry to say I can't offer you the same regards, Stumpy," he returns his lax stare onto the thug. He has that same chilling look in his eye as the one he'd given James, but now it holds a hint of boredom. Still, though, that cold glint is truly daunting. It's clearly well-practiced, and I'm glad I haven't felt it on me.

"Stumpy?" the scruffy human grunts coarsely. "Dare I ask?"

"General term for someone missing fingers, or a hand, or an arm."

"You're mistaken," the thug laughs, and his friends join. He lifts his unarmed left hand and wiggles his gloved fingers, "I got mine-"

As soon as he gets one good finger-wiggle in, a burst of bluish light crashes into his hand from somewhere off in the trees, and frost surges down from his fingers to his elbow. He gives a cry of surprise, dropping his knife and gripping his arm. Fyr seizes the blade, swings upward, and shatters the man's fingertips, then chucks the knife into the stomach of one of the thugs holding James. It makes a thick 'thunk' as it cuts through leather armor.

Then Fyr spins around and catches a guy behind us with his elbow, completing the entire combination of moves in a matter of a couple seconds.

I react to the flurry of attacks in wild shock, releasing an undignified squawk and scrambling backward underneath a particularly oversized fern.

The first thug who lost his fingers is caught between fighting back and shouting in agony about his destroyed hand, but Fyr launches out a well-placed left cross with his whole body following through, catches the guy in the cheek, and knocks him flat.

And James, well, in the split second I take to look in his direction, I wish I hadn't. He cuts right through a bandit woman's neck with the knife Fyr threw. So much for 'murder's not my style', I guess.

My stomach curdles at the sight of the gore like it should, but it doesn't strike fear into me, seeing real death. I feel kind of like a creep for thinking that way, but thanks to everything I've experienced lately, it doesn't hit me the right way. The _healthy_ way, that is. It doesn't even alarm me or hit me that _that person just died_. It's just more of a positive assurance that that person won't hurt anyone anymore. Maybe it's a side effect of the potion, or maybe I'm going numb; but I appreciate it, either way.

I attempt to scoot further backward, but my hand plants itself onto the boot of one bandit I hadn't seen before, and the surprise on his face mirrors mine. He reaches down and grabs me by what can basically be called the scruff of my shirt, and I freak.

I wrench myself around to face him by twisting my whole body, and while he still holds me down, I kick my bare heels out into his shins, the blunt of which forces him to stoop forward and release my shirt. Before he can grab at me again, I swing my right foot up and collide it against his face, crunching into his chin—literally crunching, colliding my poor, frail toes against the hard edge of his jaw.

It feels like I've just stubbed every toe of that foot against an iron wall, and both he and I howl in pain. He clutches his face with one hand and lands a fist against my mouth before I can parry. My bottom lip cuts against my teeth, and I yelp and crumple to the ground as pain blooms and blood fills my mouth. The guy unsheathes a dagger and drops forward to get me while I'm down, but before his punch can reach me, Fyr swings in from the side, kicking him square in the side of the head with the bottom of his heavy boot.

Spitting a mouthful of blood aside, I stumble to my feet, desperate to escape. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, clouding the pain I'm feeling and giving me enough energy to move. I'm so confused, and there's so much going on, but I force myself to start running. I need to at least remove myself from the 'arena'. I still don't know what happened to that first guy's hand, and I mostly just feel the need to save my ass.

"Ava, stop!" Fyr shouts after me, and by now I have enough common sense to not ignore him. I've made it nearly to the obscuring line of trees through this thick underbrush, not yet out of sight. I stumble and turn toward his voice, but end up spinning directly into another person.

I hit her pretty hard, and it not only knocks the wind out of me, but knocks me on my back. Seriously, one violent encounter after the next. I'm going to be a walking bruise.

I lay there gasping for breath as the unaffected woman peers over me. She's a night elf, like Fyr, but she has pallid pink skin and navy hair and a graceful demeanor. Her silver eyes glow like the stars peppering my vision, and I expend my energy into simply focusing my eyes. She's got to be the person in the trees that Fyr had been looking at earlier.

"This is quite an encounter," she comments with a musical yet powerful voice, offering me her hand.

"What _are_ you, made of concrete?" I gasp under my breath as my diaphragm finally functions, and I take her hand. She pulls me up with ease, all the way onto my feet, and it makes me dizzy. The second I'm upright, pain jazzes through my injured foot, and I take the pressure off of it by standing on my other one.

"Ice armor," she begins an explanation, but then apparently decides it's pointless, because she turns to where I'd left Fyr and James and starts walking. I stumble along after her, limping hard on my swelling toes. It also feels like I just destroyed the soles of my feet by sprinting across the forest floor, and this woman's stride is so graceful that she barely bobs her head, making me feel like some sort of partially-handicapped goblin.

Fyr is hunched over one of the unconscious (or possibly dead) thugs besides James and, to my own mild disgust, is taking his things. James is doing the same to a different one. He steals her money pouch and her jewelry. No respect. Or hygiene, for that matter; their things are spattered in blood that's likely still warm.

"This looks enchanted," James holds a necklace with a gaudy pinkish crystal up to show me. "I'll have to get it inspected. Might sell for a steal."

I just throw him a distracted, halfhearted thumbs-up as the elf woman beside me saunters over to Fyr, and I watch her. She knows him; I can tell from the way she looks at him.

"The years have changed you," she tilts her head.

Yep, I was right.

"As they do." He doesn't respond quite so warmly in his greeting. "Iyara. Nice timing, with the frosted fingers. I was just planning on disarming him—as in removing his arms from his body—and working from there."

"Partnership always has its benefits, Aerefyr, something you ought to admit," she smiles charmingly, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes, and that last part was more of a murmur. I catch a challenge in what she's just said, some sort of argument or confrontation beneath her words. I have no idea what it means.

She gracefully reaches her hand out for him to take. He studies it as if he isn't going to, but at last he grasps it and stands.

"We were lucky this particular group was inexperienced," James pipes up. "I've heard that encountering these thugs is a sure way to dig your grave."

Iyara, which I'm guessing is her name since Fyr called her that, gives James a look, then me, and then back at Fyr. "Curious choice of...company."

Dismissing her, Fyr hoists his bag higher onto his shoulder. It looks so much fuller now than it's ever been, and I wonder what's in it. First thing he does is turn to James, who's stuffing what loot he can into his pockets.

"Reid. You're coming with us."

"And where exactly might that be?" James stands and folds his hands behind his back, like he's mocking the idea of handcuffs. With the action, his bare shoulders and chest flex, and this prompts an uninvited flashback from last night. A very lewd flashback, one I'd previously forgotten, of him lying face-up and humid beneath me with his sculpted chest heaving, both of our bodies illuminated solely by a flame lamp beside us.

 _Good lord._

I feel my entire face flush hot, and I blink and look away from him to rid my head of the vivid image. This is not the time nor place to relive that. I feel like I was drunk enough last night that before now, it'd felt halfway like a dream. Like we didn't _really_ sleep together. But…we did. We definitely did. And evidently it was hot, despite the drunkenness.

I dart my eyes toward him again. His dark curls fall partway over his eyes as he gives Fyr a wide, innocent grin, awaiting an answer.

Fyr, ignoring his question, looks at Iyara and lifts his brows. "Care to lead the way to the tower?"

"Forgotten these woods already? It's only been three decades," she teases with a mild chuckle, but she does stride off into the thick trees.

Fyr follows behind her. "No, but I'd like to keep an eye on him," he jerks his head toward James, then motions for James to take a spot in front of him, which he does without argument. James is treating all of this like a walk in the park, as if he isn't under a form of arrest.

I make an attempt to walk after them, but pain surges up from the knuckles of my toes, into my ankle. It really feels like another broken bone.

I hiss and stop in my tracks, "W-wait. I'm pretty sure I cracked a toe, or two." It hurts to talk also; I can feel the deep cut in my lip swelling. I am hurting literally head-to-toe.

They all stop, and Fyr looks at me in exasperation. "Could you be any more breakable?"

I don't have the energy to argue with him. My spirit is finally withering, and I just grit my teeth and look down to the side, using most of my strength to simply stay upright at this point. To add to all of my issues, my stomach in the past minute has started twisting itself in knots; I am starving. I haven't eaten solid food in far too long.

I just wilt and mumble, "I'm sorry."

Fyr doesn't say anything more. He steps through the underbrush and wraps one arm behind my ribs and the other under my knees, and lifts me easily. I wince at what each step of his does to my foot just from impact, but it's so much better than trying to walk on it, and I can't even think about complaining right now. At least my arm is still experiencing effects of the potion.

He glances at my face as he carries me; I can tell he's displeased by the bruising and the fat lip I'm developing, but he says nothing. He returns to the other two, and Iyara silently leads us through the verdant woods. I can hear James's near-constant coaxing for her to chat, but his words are unclear to my ears. The only bits I do catch from Iyara are something about the place we're headed; it's a settlement surrounding a tower under the protection of some bigshot named Estulan, where elf mages train and hone their arcane magic. That's the only information he gets. The conversation sounds pretty one-sided, but he doesn't seem affected by that.

I stare at my own hands as I'm carried, torn between feeling embarrassed that I had to resort to being toted around like a child, or guilty that Fyr's taken it upon himself to drag my useless ass back to civilization when he really isn't expected to.

Fyr isn't as selfish as I called him. I know this; I'll admit it. He really has gone out of his way to help me, even if it started out for his own gain. He doesn't owe me anything at all. He doesn't deserve any of the crap I've involuntarily or voluntarily thrown at him these past couple days. I'm sure this effort he's giving is fifty times worth what he'd have been paid for that teapot. He's been extremely gracious and levelheaded about it, and I have to give him credit for that. Sure, he's got his insults at the ready anytime he opens his mouth, but I'll admit they're halfway well-crafted, at the very least, and never actually hurtful.

Look at me, excusing him based on his ability to insult me.

Fyr's pace is constant, and it feels like he's been plodding through this woodland for ages, each step lulling me deeper into an exhausted daze. I catch myself staring at his face as he walks, if anything to keep me from getting motion-sickness. The huge trees—and I mean huge, as in some trunks are the size of houses—around us tower high, high above, letting the faint light of the rainy evening through their leaves that helps illuminate his face. He didn't get out of that fight unscathed either; he's got bruised cuts on his cheekbone and nose that are developing between them a black eye, making the purple hues in his face even more intense.

I want to say a lot of things to him; mostly just more apologies. But I have no idea how to word them, and I know that if I tried, they'd fall short. So I let my eyes drop to my hands again and mutter, "Thank you."

He tilts his head a single degree to glance down sideways at me, and I look up to meet him. I barely catch the traces of a smile in the corners of his eyes, and then he turns his gaze forward and says nothing.

That's good enough for me. Before long, my head falls against his arm, and my lids dip shut.

* * *

I dream that same dream again.

The one with Fyr, youthful and innocent, witnessing the murder of a couple before being dragged out by the cloaked figure.

There's one difference this time: Fyr isn't a child. He's older, but he's still painfully young-looking compared to now. Mid-to-late teens, maybe, and wild-eyed. But ultimately, his boost in age does nothing to detract from the shock and morbid horror that latch onto me and sink their claws in deep by the end of the nightmare, and as suddenly as I'm experiencing it, I'm ripped from that reality and forced into my own. It's like, even though I've seen the dream, the feelings are shoved onto me. I have no control over them.

I gasp hard and deep, every muscle in my body tensing violently and simultaneously as I wake.

I give a shudder of shock as my eyes adjust to a dim, calm, bluish light, essentially a glow, which pools in the corners of the room I'm in. The light comes from thin lanterns that hang from the low ceiling. From the way that light catches the grain in the floors, walls, and ceiling, it appears that most of this room is built from unpolished, dark wood. There are rows on rows of bookshelves in here, as well as drawers and desks, but everything is organized well and fits in its place.

I'm alone in the room, lying on a flat, plain, bed-like structure. The cushioning is thin but present, like I'm on a single layer of plush blanket on top of a hard table. Actually, that might be exactly what this is.

A deep, strong ache pulls at my arm and my foot, and I grimace, knowing the potion's effects are wearing off of my elbow.

There's a doorway at one end of the small, cozy room, which I notice just in time to see someone walk past it: a tall, blue-haired elf, but not one I recognize. He glances at me as he passes, sees that I'm awake, and sends me a friendly nod that bobs his long ears before disappearing. At this point, it's not as shocking for me to see these creatures, despite how varied they are in appearance. I'm adjusting to them. I don't know if that is good or bad.

I want to get up and investigate where I am, but I know that if I move, it's gonna open a world of pain that I'm not ready to experience. So I stay put, staring at the doorway, hoping for some form of stimulation to keep me from going mad of boredom.

Minutes tick by slowly—dragging, but still passing. I try closing my eyes, thinking maybe I could sleep, but not only is this table of a bed becoming more and more uncomfortable, I really don't want to revisit my dreams. Plus, when I close my eyes, the only thing I can really concentrate on is the fact that my stomach feels like it's become so empty that it's resorted to digesting itself.

I hear footsteps near my room and open my eyes just in time to see a blue-haired woman enter, with Fyr in tow. I'm relieved to see his familiar face, but before I can greet him, the woman speaks to me.

"I apologize for my lateness; it isn't every day we receive visitors, let alone injured ones. I did not anticipate my skills being required so suddenly this evening."

Without any warning, she begins to strip me of my shirt, and I lean away from her, looking at her like she's grown horns. Which I suspect, in this world, wouldn't be the weirdest thing to happen.

She seems impatient, but her words are still serene. "For your arm. Unless you prefer I cut away your shirtsleeve."

I glance at Fyr, who's standing beside her. He speaks up in explanation.

"She's a healer, Ava. Let her do her work."

"Do _you_ have to be here?" I grunt, doing as he says and allowing her to pull my shirt off, with help from my good arm. Simply peeling the long sleeve from the swollen limb triggers a pain so deeply that I grit my teeth together hard enough I'm afraid they might crack. I wait a few beats for the pain to subside, and my eyes meet Fyr's.

I'm physically exposed, but his eyes don't drop from mine for even a second, and I'm pretty sure I catch humor in them when he gauges my expression of discomposure. But then, the humor is replaced with an unmistakable flash of worry that's gone before it resonates. "Actually, I do have to stay," he finally answers. "This won't be painless."

If I'm not wrong, I heard an apology in his words. I feel a little alarmed at that on its own, not considering the threat of the words themselves.

"You've gone three days neglecting this break; you've used the limb under cushion of palliatives, and that foolishness will cost you in pain," the woman says somberly. It sounds like a hybridization of a lecture and a sympathy. "Thankfully the bone has not had time to heal irreparably, but a mild re-positioning may be required. We will see."

"What are you here for?" I croak at the bounty hunter, steeling myself. I have a feeling I know the answer.

He slides around the table and braces his hands onto my shoulders, pinning me to the table. I stare up at him nervously; his face is above mine, upside-down, and still just as pretty to look at. I see the apology in his expression, same as I'd heard it in his words. I have a feeling he's experienced this sort of injury before; there's an empathy there that seems unusual for him.

Just makes me all the more anxious.

"It won't take long," he reassures, his liquid silver eyes lifting to the healer and giving her the go-ahead. I feel my heart pumping hard in my chest. I have absolutely no idea what I'm about to feel.

Her hands glow in white light that snakes out of her fingertips, and I stare in rapt fascination. This isn't what I expected. I was thinking something more along the lines of her manually grabbing my arm, yanking it around every which way, and setting it with a cast, or something.

I didn't expect her to shine finger-flashlights onto my elbow. This is the first time I've genuinely _seen_ proof of the magic that Fyr talks about, and finally, it fully hits. That's _magic._ Holy shit.

I become even more interested when the little threads of light seep into my skin. I can feel them, like tiny little tickles, or pinpoint air currents. About a minute passes of this, and I begin to relax. This doesn't hurt. If anything, it's a pleasant feeling, like a tingly massage. Finally the light fades, and I clear my throat.

"That wasn't bad at all," I comment, and Fyr's chuckle sounds above me.

"That wasn't it. She had to 'see' into your injury."

The woman nods in confirmation, and then sends Fyr a look. It's not a good look. I glance up at him to see his reaction, and I see the sides of his jaw pulse as he draws his expression taut. His giant, warm hands grip my shoulders a little tighter.

"Bad?" I read his face.

He nods, not making eye contact.

I let out a shaky breath as the healer creates that same white light into her hands, except this time, it's extremely bright, and I can hear it letting off a hum of energy. My heart thuds again, and I look away frantically, hoping that maybe if I ignore it, it won't hurt. I stare up at Fyr's face. He's watching her do the magical spell.

His fingers tighten their grip even more; there's no way I could possibly lift myself from this table against half the strength he's providing.

The light seeps into my elbow, and then, it hits.

The pain rips into my arm at the same time as a definite but subtle 'crack' jolts my limb. I can't help it; I release a shriek that doesn't even feel like it came from me, and Fyr's hands tighten in reaction. My back makes an attempt to arch on its own as the magic unravels all the healing that's taken place in my elbow over the last three days, tearing apart scarred tissue. It's the most pain I've ever felt before. White hot, sickening, unbelievable; though as much as I writhe, I'm still pinned in place by Fyr's steadfast arms. Otherwise I probably would've just flopped onto the floor.

The spell surges through my veins, into the cut on my mouth, into my broken toes and battered feet, and I'm thankful that those weren't painful. Maybe they were, but it was nothing compared to the mess that is my stupid elbow.

I lose track of passing time. I didn't think that was a real thing; I didn't think people could lose their sense of time simply because of pain, but it happened. It could have easily been ten seconds, or ten minutes. It felt like the latter, but the logic remaining in my mind assures me that it wasn't.

But, finally, the pain ebbs, and I feel an immediate exhaustion wash over me, along with an extreme weightlessness. I just dropped from severe, ten-out-of-ten pain, to absolutely nothing in the span of a second, and it's such a drastic, positive change that I let out a groan—sob?—of relief and relax down into the bed, immobile and unseeing.

I lay there, chest heaving, and after a few moments of recovery, I notice that I'm glistening in sweat despite the coolness of the room. Fyr carefully, gently peels his hands from my shoulders, leaving behind white finger marks that soon start to fade.

"Rest now, child," the healer says softly, raising her glowing hands toward my face like she's going to do another spell.

Fyr walks around to the side of my bed; I want to talk to him, but the woman's hands touch my head, and the world goes dark.

* * *

Something tiny hits my cheek, and I'm pulled out of deep, quiet sleep. I don't open my eyes though. I haven't quite processed what it was.

It happens again, and I flinch, scrunching my eyes. I hear a deep voice whisper the words, 'Stop that,' in a low growl. I think it's Fyr. Thanks, Fyr.

Another pesky tap on my face.

"What is that?" I complain, squinting one eye open. My vision is blurry, but I see someone sitting about five feet from my bed. I'm pretty sure it's James. He lifts an arm and tosses something small and crumpled at me. It's a piece of dirt or a pebble he pulled from the foundation of his boot. It hits my face, and I flinch again.

"Knock it off," I sit up and rub my eyes blearily. It takes me a few seconds to realize I've done it with both hands, and there was no pain. I look at my elbow and bend it, and it works just fine.

"Oh look, she's finally awake!" James cheers happily, and scoots forward in his seat, like he's going to stand. "I'll go fetch the priestess—"

"You'll stay in that seat while _I_ fetch her," Fyr rebukes, rising from his own seat nearby before James gets the chance and shoving the man back down into the chair, then exiting the room.

"Guy hovers worse than a mosquito," James gripes, sending a not-so-friendly look in Fyr's direction, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands behind his head so that his curls splay in all different directions.

"I heard that," Fyr's deep voice is still audible from the hallway as his footsteps fade.

James leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he tends to do. "He knows he can't take me in now. It's too much work for an only moderate reward. Closest bureau to Feralas is all the way up in the elves' capital, and it's only partially functional."

"You sure?" I ask, still vaguely marveling at how well my elbow works. I also notice that I'm wearing a plain, woven shirt. Someone must've dressed me when I passed out. I'm thankful.

"He may've had a chance in Ironforge, I'll admit. But, here? Nah." He shrugs dismissively. This would explain his lax attitude from the moment we stepped foot in the forest.

"He seems pretty intent on taking you in, still," I drape my legs forward over the bed, where my feet don't reach the ground. I swing them. "I wouldn't underestimate that man. I mean, think about it; you're in a tower full of mages, and I hear they can teleport people."

James is unconvinced. "Safe to say your elf's a touch too riveted by _you_ to capably worry about me."

I see a twinkle in his eye, but I shake my head.

"He doesn't give a single shit about me," I start to laugh, but then I catch myself and think again on my words. Back there, with the arm healing, he'd seemed pretty genuine. It was probably the most candid I'd ever seen him, and it was in regards to my well-being. Plus, the whole 'carrying me here' thing happened, too. That, and the fact that he didn't just drop me in Ironforge like he could have and been rid of me.

I should give Fyr more credit, I'm realizing more and more. Even if he doesn't care about _me_ specifically, he does care about my well-being as a person.

James gives a cheeky chuckle at the expression I've been holding. "Never have I witnessed an argument more convincing," he sarcastically says, and then points over his shoulder. "He hadn't left this room until now. Just stayed and…well, waited."

My brows lift just a hint, despite trying my best to keep my expression neutral.

"Hmm," is all I can say. I want to ask how long I was out, but I don't. I don't feel like I've slept very much, and although I feel awake now, I'm still very tired.

James doesn't let the conversation between us die; he just changes the subject, scooting his entire chair forward and pulling something from his pocket to show me. It's the necklace he looted off of that one Blackhand woman.

"Check this out," he holds it out toward me, letting the chain and pendant dangle from one finger. "Not your average amulet, clearly."

"…Clearly," I say cluelessly.

He picks up on that and smirks. "Check out the way the gem catches the light. It's like it doesn't reflect the energy; it absorbs it. This thing deserves far greater a fate than to rest on the breast of a Blackhand bandit."

I stare at the pinkish, pale stone that hangs from the chain. He's right, actually. As I stare at it, I notice that it looks weird, like my eyes aren't seeing it right. I think its edges should reflect the lanterns' blue glow, but they don't.

I reach out to touch it, as James still has it outstretched toward me, but the moment my fingertip touches the small crystal, it flickers as if a light inside of it just experienced a power surge.

I yank my hand away, and James's brows shoot skyward.

"Whoa!" he exclaims, lifting the crystal to look at it. "What was that?"

Before I can answer, Fyr and the healer return, and as I'm seeing she has a habit of doing, the healer interrupts us.

"Where did you get that?"

James and I both freeze and look at her. She's staring at the amulet.

"Looted it."

"You should not have it." She approaches and holds her hand out, "I am sorry, but I can't have that in the hands of the likes of yourself."

James doesn't give it to her; he just tucks it into his hand and leans back in his seat. "And what if I keep it?"

"It is not rightly yours. It belongs to the mages who reside here. It has been missing for far too long."

"Finders, keepers," he gives her a wide, challenging grin.

She holds out her hand, palm-up. She has the look of someone dealing with a petulant child, which I guess isn't far off. "I will have you compensated for its worth, but I need that amulet. Please, hand it over. I will ask you but one final time."

"Ah, no," he pretends to think before declining. "Thank you for the offer, but I'd rather keep it—"

Suddenly, with no explanation, James simply reaches out and drops the amulet in her hand.

I stare at him, surprised at his change of heart, but then I see the look in his eye; he had no intention of doing that. Still, though, he remains in his place, and she thanks him.

Then she turns to me. "I see you are faring better. I will send someone to fetch you a bath and a meal."

"Th-thank you," I say, a little alarmed at the fact that James is still standing there, looking like he's trapped in his own body, but I keep that alarm submerged deeply.

She nods at me, offering me a slight smile, but I can tell she's spent enough time not smiling that this action is foreign for her. "My name is Vestia Moonspear; I hear we may spend some time together here. I look forward to teaching you what I know."

I give her a nod, though I've got about a hundred questions surfacing in my head. I'm staying here? She's my teacher? Is there food anywhere? What's going on with James?

As soon as she exits the room, James exhales as if he's been holding his breath.

"Flaming horror! What I would give for a world without priests and their mind control!" he hisses, but he's not so much angry as he is irritated, or annoyed maybe.

"Mind control?" I balk. That's what that was? What _can't_ happen in this place?

"She wouldn't have had to use it, had you the decency to do as she politely asked," Fyr chides, and I startle. I guess I'd forgotten he was here, he'd been so silent ever since he'd entered with Vestia.

"Politely?" James barks a quick laugh, finally turning on Fyr with an equal combination of incredulous humor and exasperation. He's evidently upset his prize was taken from him, and his tolerance has dipped. "Of all the words, 'polite?' Arrogant, yes. Pretentious, and even downright conceited. But polite?"

Fyr lifts one brow, allowing James to continue.

The human points a finger against his own chest with a laugh, "Behind that 'politeness', you've one hell of a storm brewing. That doesn't make you better, just harder to trust. An arbitrary, passive-aggressive batch of hens, you all are."

"You're an expert in trust, thief?" Fyr folds his arms, unaffected by the number of slights just thrown in his direction. His stance is relaxed, and his expression one of mild amusement. "I think you're humiliated that you couldn't resist her mind control."

I grit my teeth in frustration. I'm more interested in the freaking mind control, but here they are, puffing out their chests.

James's hazel eyes flash intensely, "Your 'polite' priestess just proved herself a thief as well, but I don't see you putting her in cuffs."

Fyr shakes his head. "Had Vestia a bounty on her name, you two would be equals."

James cocks his head to the left, giving a humorless, resigned laugh. "Oh, I'm beginning to understand Ava's frustration with you."

"Whereas I'll never understand her attraction to a sordid kleptomaniac as yourself," Fyr retorts effortlessly. All the while, he's kept that relaxed, amused attitude in this argument, like all it's doing is fueling him, like he's entirely emotionally confident.

"Ah, you're just jealous I got to her before you did," James smirks.

My face burns red. Why the fuck would they involve me in their petty argument? Before Fyr can even answer, I curl my lip at them both. "And this is where you both shut the fuck up before I rip your balls off. Then we'll see who's bragging."

James realizes he said something he shouldn't have, because he gives me a 'whoops' sort of smile, and backs off. "Sorry, Love."

"Yeah, you're sorry. I'm going to find that bath I was promised," I slide past both of them, and when I notice that they stopped talking, I turn and look at both of them. "Oh, don't stop now. Might as well compare dicks too, once I'm gone."

Hastily, I exit the room, not even taking the time to catch their expressions. I work to clear my mind and expect to enter a hallway or something, but I'm hit instead with a circular room with low lighting, and up above is a massive spiraling stairway that winds upward to a second floor. I'm in a cylindrical building, an actual tower of some sort.

I look around for someone to ask for directions, but the first person I see appears to be searching for me as well. Another elf. This place is crawling with them. She looks young, and her face is cute. When she sees me, she smiles.

"Your bath is prepared, if you'll follow me, please."

I follow her up, past many different rooms and floors, and we come to a stop at the very top of the cylinder. The room up here, although it takes up the entire floor, is much smaller than the one we'd started out on; the building tapers. It is bordered with foggy glass windows, their panes showing that it's nighttime, and in the center of the small room is a large, decorative, wide metal tub. I can see steam rising from it; the water is hot.

I've never seen something more enticing in my life, and it takes all my restraint to not strip my clothes right now in front of this poor girl and leap into the water.

"Towels are available here," she motions her hand to a small stack, and then points to a short, round stand next to the bathtub. "Soap is there. Mineral salts are there," she points at a small, shallow bowl by the water, "Which I've already mixed into the bathwater for deodorant. We've supplied a change of clothing for you, courtesy of Master Darkeye, there beside the towels. I am Shaia; if you need anything, simply call out for me. I will be nearby."

"Thank you so much," my gratefulness flows through my voice. I'm also grateful to Fyr; he apparently got me new clothing, which by now I desperately need.

The second she leaves, my clothes are gone, and I practically dance my way into the water. The heat seeps into my joints, and I feel my tired muscles relax as I let my eyes drift shut. I breathe deeply, and I think I can smell essential oils, like lavender and rosemary, in the steam. Hands-down the best bath I've ever had.

I dip my hair in and set to covering every inch of my body in soap and scrubbing deeply. The soap smells like lavender, too, and some other clean scent I can't place. It feels so pure and smooth, moisturizing and lathery. It takes me a good fifteen minutes until I'm satisfied that I haven't missed anywhere, and I rinse and exit the water, which has cooled drastically since I entered it.

The towels aren't like the ones I'm used to; they don't have that plush, thick, absorbent feel to them. They're basically just thickly-woven blankets. But they work well enough, and before long I'm clean, dry, and refreshed. My long, wet hair is wrapped in one of the towels as I investigate my new clothes. They all look brand-new, never worn and in perfect condition. There's a light-weight, linen-textured shirt, a pair of pants with a drawstring, some thick socks, and, to my absolute relief, a pair of underwear. Beside them is a pair of worn leather moccasins that look about my size.

The clothes are not Fyr-sized, either. They're large, but not so much that I can't wear them. The underwear fit snugly, thankfully, and they're quite comfortable, though they do have a thin drawstring on them, too. I've never had underwear without elastic in them. It's a different sensation.

I'm not extremely well-endowed up top anyway, in which case support isn't my top priority, so I don't put my dirty bra back on. I slip the shirt on bare, and the sleeves stretch just past my elbows. The socks are warm, and the pants feel tight enough that they're not baggy, but they are a bit long, so I roll them to my ankles. Then I slip the moccasins on, which fit well with the socks, and I give a breath of mild relief at my situation.

Bathed and dressed, now I'm just hungry.

* * *

Apparently Ironforge and Feralas are on different sides of the planet, because where one is midday, the other is late evening. So, by the time I'm done eating, it's nearly 2 AM. All the elves are up and awake, but I am not. I'm taken to the same room I'd woken in before and given a cushioned cot in the corner. Fyr and James both have cots there, too, and with nothing else to do, we all sleep. For Fyr and James, I'll guess it's more of a nap, but for me, I'm getting much-needed, comfy slumber.

I feel like I've only just drifted off to sleep when a hand covers my mouth and makes me jump awake.

"Shh," I hear a whisper in my ear, and my eyes whip toward James. Dark, two-day stubble now covers his chin, upper lip, and jaws, and it's a good look.

He whispers so quietly I can barely hear him, and he's still holding his hand over my mouth. "The elves have all gone to sleep for the day, so I'm taking this time to slip out." Finally he pulls his hand from my face and puts a finger against his lips to tell me to be just as quiet. Then I understand: he doesn't want to wake Fyr, who's sleeping just ten feet away from us.

I sit up quietly, but my cot groans at the shift in pressure, and we both freeze and look toward Fyr. He doesn't move a muscle.

I notice that James has Fyr's backpack looped over his shoulder, but that he's taken a lot of Fyr's stuff out and left it on the floor.

"You're stealing his bag?" I hiss.

"Don't worry, I left his clothes and identification. He stole my things first, you know. And don't tell me he'll miss this ratty old sack. Besides, I need it for all this loot."

I can't say I feel comfortable letting this happen, but I don't want to get involved in their ordeal, so I just close my mouth and shrug. I don't blame him for leaving. If it's escape now or end up in jail again, I'd bolt, too. I'm actually surprised it took this long, and I'm surprised he even woke me up to say goodbye.

James reaches into his pocket and pulls out the pink necklace that Vestia had confiscated. "Got my amulet back, too. So? What do you say?"

I give him a questioning stare.

He smirks knowingly. "Want to come with me? I've collected all the valuables I could find here. We'll split the profits and live like royalty until the money runs out, and do it all over again. I'd say we've got a good four months of royalty in this bag here; two, if we split it."

"I can't," I answer without even having to think about it.

I see his expression visibly drop. "I supposed it was a fool's request. Can't ask you to give up your home, if this is your chance at getting back."

I nod, watching as he digs into the backpack and hands me my purse.

That cheeky smirk plants itself back onto his face when I take my bag, and he leans forward where he's kneeling and scoops his hand into my hair, pulling me forward and closing his lips around mine. I've kissed bad kissers and good kissers, but nobody has kissed me quite like this. It's sudden and hot and steals my breath away, only lasting about three or four seconds before he releases me and gives me a wicked grin.

"Nice knowing you," he winks. I have to catch myself from falling forward into him as soon as he pulls back, and I'm left speechless as he slips out of the room, silent as a breeze.

And, with that, no more James.

I'm bewildered, clutching my purse with both hands and watching the doorway. My eyes drag over to Fyr again. He hasn't moved this entire time; his shoulders rise and fall steadily with his silent breaths. For a second, I think about waking him, but I decide against it. I want to give James a head start.

I quietly set my purse on the ground by my cot and curl back up into my blankets, in hopes that I'll be home by the end of the day.

* * *

 _Author's Note:_

 _Not to be a spoiler, but this isn't the last we'll hear of that rogue. I had a big, big cliffhanger planned for this chapter but realized it'd best fit in the next one. I don't know whether to apologize or say you're welcome. ;)_

 _Review 1: Ernest Shippinglane89 - You and me both!_

 _Review 2: Ria - Thank you very much! I'm glad you enjoyed! And not intentionally, but a Google search on James Reid brought up a Filipino singer... ha ha._

 _Review 3: Nymphetamine0verdose_ \- _That she did, more than she realizes. Lol._

 _Review 4: ArtemisJade - Thank you! :)_

 _Review 5: Rudhlomiel Luminous - Yeah! I would have left off on another cliffhanger in this chapter, but I decided to save it for the next one._

 _Review 6: Bohmzawe - Thank you for the high praise. :) I hope it keeps your fancy! And yes, definitely keep your eye on the unfortunate James!_

 _Review 7: Canis Zol: Thank you, glad you like it!_


	5. Chapter 5: Pursuit

Waking up abruptly has become a theme for me.

This time, it's all thanks to Fyr's deep, unreasonably loud, hissed expletives as he tromps around the room we're in.

I inhale sharply and sit upright in annoyance, trying my damnedest to look at him in spite of my blurry, bleary eyes fighting against me. I catch his basic form, which paces the floor with big, stomp-y, deliberate steps.

"What is your problem?" I ask before I can really think about what the problem could actually be.

He stops and turns and looks down at me square in the eyes, and as my vision clears up, I'm pinned in place by his silver, steely stare.

"Bastard stole my backpack," he growls as he finally looks away from me and resumes his pacing. "I can't believe he took it. Of all the things to steal..."

"He left your other stuff; he just needed it to carry his things since he didn't have one," I shrug.

He freezes. "You're speaking as if you were aware he stole it."

I snap my mouth shut. Whoops.

Floundering, I point my eyes at the pile of mismatched but folded clothes by his cot. "Well, uh—I mean," I stutter, "I just assumed he didn't take all your st-stuff, b-because there's a bunch of it on the floor right there." The tail end of my explanation unintentionally rises in tone like a question.

His stare doesn't move, but it's not quite as accusing. I'm seriously the worst liar in the world, and it's embarrassing. I think he knows I'm lying, too, because he looks like he's fighting between calling me out on it or just dropping it.

"Oh, and look," I say, feigning surprise as I reach down by my cot and pick up my purse, "He left me mine. See, he didn't take everything! You have your important belongings, at least," I motion toward his pile of gear. "He just took that crappy bag, that's all. Nothing big."

A couple seconds drag past.

"It's not just a bag," he simply melts back into his frustration from earlier. He wrings his fingers into fists. "I…It's not just a bag," he repeats, trailing off. He wheels around, walks to a small dresser against the wall by the door, and starts rummaging through the drawers. It's only a few seconds before he yanks out a bag that easily outshines his old one in terms of quality, and then he shoves all of his things into it. Seriously, he just got himself a new bag. He shouldn't be so grumpy.

Before I can ask any questions, he's across the room and kneeling beside where I'm sitting on my cot. His face is a foot in front of mine, sending me an intense, imploring look. "You can take us to him, Ava. Use your magic. Focus it on him. You've a connection with him; it will work."

"What?" I recoil, eyes wide and brows tight. "What are you talking about? I can't do that!"

"Yes, you can. It's not as hard as you think, especially with power like yours. I am sure it can be done."

"Don't you think that if I could control it, I would have by now? Why would we have randomly teleported those times if I had any grasp over this...this magic? I can't do it intentionally, Fyr!"

He becomes even more frustrated. "You _can_ , Ava!" He stands and paces across the room to his own cot, and then turns back to me. "Just do this one thing for me. Please. I won't ask for anything else. I will walk you through every step."

"Why is it so important? It's just a shitty, old, frayed bag—"

"—No," he stops me. "No, you don't understand, and I don't expect you to understand. Just know that I _must_ get it back."

"What, is there something in it that he took? Something valuable? Add it to what I owe you. I'm still planning to pay you back in one way or another."

"It's not that," he paces the floor again.

"Then, what? You have your papers, your clothes, your money—" I pause. "Did he take your money?"

"Well, yes, he did take that too, but—"

"Is that why you want the bag?"

"No."

"Why, then?" I plead in true confusion. "I'm sorry if I'm frustrating you, I just want to understand. You want me to do what's apparently dangerous magic that you've hated up until now, so it must be a pretty big deal."

"It's…" he pauses again, "It holds sentimental value to me, alright? It's more than just a bag."

I hesitate and stare at him. I open my mouth to speak, but we're interrupted by the priestess, Vestia, who storms into the door of our room, swinging it wide.

"Where has he gone?" she asks. Her hair is all mussed up like she just woke, and she seems frazzled, which is very out of place.

"James? He left just before sunrise," I answer, feeling under pressure to answer her. It's like being drilled by a teacher after getting caught cheating or something, and the panic and tension is real. I catch my answer, though, and add on, "—or so it appears, I guess."

"He stole the crystal I confiscated, along with many others," she sounds like she's accusing one of us, even though neither of us are exactly guilty.

"Yes, he stole some of my belongings as well," Fyr turns to motion to where his things were, but then apparently realizes he already stuffed it in his bag, because he just turns back around to Vestia. "I must give credit to his ability to avoid detection. I'm a light sleeper."

"He didn't avoid detection," Vestia shakes her head frantically. "I awoke when he entered my quarters. He…tied me to my bedpost and made off with the amulet."

"He tied you to your bed?" Fyr's brows arch, and I notice a look on his face I've never seen before. Like his eyes are smiling, but he's also still concerned. "Did he blindfold you as well?" This question is very obviously him teasing her.

"The monster muzzled me with a handkerchief and bound my hands to my bedpost, then left me to watch him steal all of the amulets," she answers with a deliberate glare toward Fyr. "Then, he had the nerve to say it was _my_ fault he stole them, and that I shouldn't have taken what was 'rightly his'. How could you have let such a person into our community, Aerefyr?"

"I informed you quite clearly of his character, Priestess," Fyr responds calmly.

"You should have restrained him in some way, if you knew he was prone to this behavior. It took me nearly an hour to escape my bindings."

"Yes, I'll admit that," Fyr nods. "I wrongly assumed he would stay put due to his unnerving fixation on this one," he bobs his head at me in a form of pointing.

Vestia shakes her head disappointingly and looks at me. "I am afraid you, too, are out of luck. Those crystals he stole held a crucial role in helping you to rein in your magic—which would've helped you to control your portals. Aerefyr informed me of your struggle while you were recuperating. It is unique and unfamiliar in its nature, but the rules of magic should still apply; you must rely on your magic in order to return to your home, because only you have any connection to it. Without the help of those crystals, there is little for you here. I am sorry."

I feel any positive feelings toward James flit away the moment she tells me this, and by now, if not for the fact that my body has frozen itself in place, I probably would have exploded. I feel regret and growing rage at both James and myself boiling in my head, but I try my hardest to keep it in check when that anger collects in the form of electric tingles in my arms. I know what happens if it goes out of control.

Fyr, however, notices that my magic is spiking, and tunes into it.

"It's not too late. We can get it all back," he says to me. "Like I said before, you have a connection to him. Strong or not, it's stronger than that of anyone else here. Portal straight to him. Just focus your magic on him."

Vestia reacts before I can.

"Open a portal straight to him?" the woman repeats an octave higher than him. "Aerefyr, you may no longer respect the arcane, but by Elune, you must know that this woman has been leaving veil scars everywhere she goes, yes? And every portal she summons creates a beacon, essentially, for demons and wayward spirits. The less magic she uses in her unpredictable state, the better. We've enough to worry about as it is, let alone an unstable arcane blister in the very heart of our tower."

So, I'm some sort of bomb. And also, demons? I am painfully ready to be home.

"May as well make that magic of hers useful, for once, since she's already dripping with the stuff," he argues back. "Don't tell me it's that great of a difference whether she uses the power or not; if it's that potent, it's doing damage regardless and attracting whatever it'll attract either way."

Vestia refuses this with a shake of her head. "It is too dangerous. She needs the crystal before she can safely practice. You of all people know the danger of using magic when you are not ready, and the destruction that it can cause."

Whatever she meant by that, it strikes a nerve with Fyr, and he tenses up, expression going cold. He doesn't say a thing, just disconnects from the conversation entirely. Fyr has a serious history in this place, I start to realize. He has a history with that first girl, Iyara, as well as with these people. I want more than anything to know what it is, but now isn't the time to ask.

"What exactly does the necklace do?" I ask Vestia curiously after a hesitant glance at Fyr. "I touched it last night, just for a second, and it glowed."

"It acts as a reservoir for potential magic, which can be drawn upon when necessary. It prevents the magic you've been exuding from radiating, and instead absorbs it. As I noticed when healing your injuries, you are ludicrously saturated with arcane; it is a wonder it hasn't taken hold of your health or driven you mad."

"Madness has yet to be determined," Fyr murmurs, apparently still listening despite his disengaged demeanor, and I shoot him an eye-roll. He needs to take his frustration out on Vestia, not me. She's the one challenging him.

"Either way, she will not be used as a tool for your exploits," Vestia demands.

"She needs to find him just as well as I do," Fyr argues, but then he seems to give up. "But, you know what? Fine. Ava, this is where I leave you. I'm going to catch the bastard who stole my things."

"How?" I feel a sense of panic just at the thought of him leaving me for good. He's my only sense of stability. He's been here since the beginning. I can already feel the loneliness creeping up around me.

"Finding people is my job." He readjusts the bag strap over his left shoulder and tightens the ties on one of his boots.

"So, you're leaving? That's it?"

"Yup," he moves to the other boot.

"What about me? She just told us that they can't help me here."

"Beats me. Unless you have a way of making yourself useful—such as porting us to Mr. Reid, I've got nothing. I can try to retrieve the crystals as well, but I don't plan on returning to this tower ever again. Maybe I'll send them via postmaster. It'll only take about, oh, four months."

"How do I teleport on command?" I come to the decision without having to think much on it. Fyr immediately sends me an unexpected approving grin and stands up.

Vestia looks like she's about to implode. "You _cannot_! Aerefyr, stop this foolishness at once."

He ignores her and comes to stand beside me, facing away from her. "For most mages, it takes months to learn, but you have a 'gift' when it comes to teleportation," he explains, then suddenly winces and sends Vestia a sideways glare, and looks back at me like nothing's wrong. "You're a non-verbal spellcaster. They're rare, but they exist. In your case, feel it, sense it, focus on the location—" he whips toward Vestia, "—and by Elune, can you not, Priestess? The human may have been easy, but your mind control is nothing more than an annoying buzz in my ears."

Vestia glares back at him. "If you will not listen, I will turn it on her instead." The way she says it is a clear-as-day threat, and uneasiness trickles through me. I don't want to be mind-controlled.

I throw Fyr a panicky glance. He holds up both hands, turning toward her with a frustrated, incredulous look. "All right! All right, we will take the conventional approach. Ava, gather your things. We are leaving. Might as well take you with me; you're at a dead end here."

"But I thought I was supposed to—"

He winks at me when she can't see him do it, and at the same time shakes his head. He speaks with that same frustrated tone, but I know it isn't real. "He can't have gotten far. We'll move fast and catch up with him that way."

I nod and grab my stuff.

Vestia sighs. "Thank you."

Fyr sends her an annoyed grunt and takes my elbow once I've gathered my purse and put my moccasins on, and he leads me out the door.

I half-turn with my body as I'm still dragged away and look at Vestia. I think about thanking her, but I feel like it'd be a little hollow, with her just having threatened me thirty seconds earlier. She lifts her hand in an immobile wave, and watches us as we swiftly exit the building.

As soon as we step outside, I'm hit with a shocking realization. The building I've been staying in is nothing more than one of those big old trees. We're surrounded by identical ones, as well as little single-story cabins, in a village of elves.

"You guys live in trees?" I stumble, still directed by the elbow as he pulls me alongside him.

He just grunts.

I continue with questions. "What was that about back there? What's the plan? I can't imagine you giving in to Vestia's demands that easily."

"You're going to teleport us to James Reid."

"Oh. What are we doing now?" I have to jog just a little to keep up with his outrageous stride, but I'm glad he has now let go of me.

"Leaving town, so we aren't under scrutiny."

"Ooh, exciting," I bubble, scuttling behind him. "Feels like middle school all over again, when I'd sneak out while my parents were asleep and run off with my friends. We would buy energy drinks and Twinkies from a local gas station and climb up on top of our school building and stargaze, and we only ever got caught by the cops one time because they'd installed security cameras on the—"

"I don't know what half of that means," Fyr confesses, and I sigh.

"Right, sorry. Didn't mean to ramble." Although my mouth has stopped, my mind continues to relive the memories, and I suddenly feel a pang of sadness. I miss home. I miss it so much. It's only been like four days, but it feels like it's been forever. And I miss the people. I miss my mom. I've gone weeks before without talking to her and that'd been fine, but something about not being able to call her at all makes it tougher to be away. It makes me miss her more. My entire life feels so far away right now—not only _feels_ far away, but _is_. I am in another world. I am all alone here.

By the time we've made it out of the village on the winding dirt path, I've pulled into my own emotions like a snail, my eyebrows so tight they're giving me a headache.

"Here should be fine," Fyr stops and turns toward me. He catches sight of my expression before I can change it, and he pauses, his own brows furrowing. "You good?"

"Yep. What do I do now?"

"You need to get riled up a little. Get that magic active. That's when it's most effective, or so we've witnessed."

"How do I do that?"

"I doubt you're keen on another broken arm, so pain is out of the question. Maybe think of something that makes you angry."

I try to relive what made me mad before, but nothing's really effective. The only thing that comes close is the fact that James stole the exact things that I need to get home and I let it happen unwittingly, but even that doesn't hit as hard as it did this morning.

"I...can't," I shrug after trying and failing to focus on so many different things.

"You're kidding?" Fyr laughs at me uncertainly. "I've seen you lose your temper how many times, and you're telling me there's nothing?"

"I'm not an endless supply of anger, Numbskull," I snort.

"So, you're not angry, but you're still being rude," Fyr shakes his head. "Truly, it's like I'm looking in a mirror, Princess."

"Last I checked, I wasn't a purple giant, nor did I have a beard. And quit calling me Princess," I frown. "It feels patronizing."

"Yes, well, the Common tongue is so rife with sarcasm, it's hard to be sincere."

"As if calling me 'Princess' wasn't sarcastic for you."

"It may have been, but I never meant it as an insult," he smirks. "So, portal," he recovers the topic that's actually important. "Was there any other time you felt the magic strengthen?"

I think back to all the times I felt the static. "Only when I was mad or upset," I begin, but then I remember something else, something I wish I hadn't. "And...when I was with James."

"So he triggers those feelings? Unsurprising," Fyr folds his arms. If I'm correct, he's smug.

"No, not just with him, I mean... _with_ him."

His arms drop to his sides, and his brows arch. " _Oh_."

"Yeah, er, obviously it didn't work enough to port us, but it was definitely something."

He doesn't let it turn into awkward silence. Suddenly a thought pops in my head, and I realize we're both thinking it at the same time: should _we_?

He recovers before I do. "I think that means that it activates when your pulse quickens, or possibly has something to do with adrenaline," he concludes, as if it's all some sort of scientific thing and we're not talking about me having sex with someone. I can't tell whether to be embarrassed or just go with it, but I choose to hide my bashfulness and nod nonchalantly.

"So, the easiest way to do that is just...exercise, right?" I ask.

"Correct. How snug are your shoes?"

"Snug enough."

"Can you run?"

"Well enough," I guess.

"Try to keep up, then," he flashes me a challenging smirk, turns on his heels, and takes off in a brisk jog down the path. I freeze for a few seconds, then break into a run of my own. My soft soles make almost no noise against the damp but firm dirt of the path, and I acknowledge soon enough that I'm going to have to sprint to catch up with him. Might as well; it'll speed up the process and do exactly what we need.

Sending a silent prayer of thanks to Vestia for healing me so well, I increase my speed, my breath already coming in quick bursts even though we've only been at it for about twenty seconds at this point. Another ten pass, and another. I can feel the magic awakening in my veins, right alongside the burn in my lungs. It's working.

I'm panting hard pretty soon, running at near-full speed for this long, and I'm feeling the pain in my lungs and stomach. Distractedly, I notice that the trees around us are slowly thinning out, allowing more and more daylight to reach the forest floor. The dirt of the path starts to turn to sand as we race through the trees.

I develop a stitch in my ribs and attempt to breathe deeply to rid myself of the pain, but once it's started, it doesn't stop, and before long I'm slowing. Right as we break through a line of trees and reach a visual I hadn't anticipated, I stumble to a stop, nearly tripping when my feet sink into loose sand. We're at a beach. Mist clings to the water's surface, and waves crash against a combination of large rocks and coarse sand. The forest stretches left-to-right behind us, and the water does the same before us.

"H-hold up," I pant after Fyr, who slows as well, comes to a loping jog, and returns to where I've now stooped and braced my hands on my knees to catch my breath. His boots kick sand onto my feet when he reaches me and stops.

"Any luck?" he asks. I'm a little miffed that he doesn't seem remotely out-of-breath.

"Yeah," I nod enthusiastically. "I can feel it."

"Good. Focus on it. Try to...to draw it out, if that makes any sense."

"Draw it out?" I force myself to stand upright, breathing deeply still to try to stop that damn cramping in my side. Lack of oxygen is what causes that pain, and so I'm gasping.

"One step at a time," he says mostly to himself, and then puts his hand on my shoulder. "First of all, concentrate on the magic."

I do. I focus on the way it tingles through my limbs and into my extremities, and I pay attention to how it pulses. I send him a nod that I'm with him.

He nods back. "Focus on what you want it to do. You want it to make a connection, a doorway. Where do you want the door to open?"

"To James."

"Don't just think about the man; think about the space beside him. If you focus directly on him, it could... Teleporting into another person's exact location tends to make both involved people...pop."

"Holy shit. O-okay," I swallow down my nagging fear and do as he says. I feel like if I focus on my goal any harder, my brain will fry.

Fyr grabs a hold of my shoulder to link us, and I notice that the magic is traveling into my arms, converging at my hands. I feel like this is a good thing. I want a doorway, right? So I instinctively raise my hands and...somehow form one.

Even Fyr looks shocked at my success when a glimmering window shows up in front of me. It looks like a hole in the air, and my eyes don't want to accept it. I don't get a chance to truly marvel at the fact that I just did this, though, because a strange, eerie sensation crawls across my skin, like cold, airy hands sliding over my back and arms and tugging in different directions. A chill whisper and a shiver run down my spine, and I startle, glancing behind myself. There's nothing there, but a feeling of exhaustion hits me right afterward. It's all I can do to pay attention to Fyr, so I make that my mission.

His mouth has fallen open. "You actually made a portal! I thought you were just going to teleport. There are so many missing variables here, I can't even begin to list the number of reasons you shouldn't have been able to do this."

"You said to make a d-doorway," I shrug, trying to regain my energy. That creepy feeling has persisted, but there's no one else around me, so I don't act on it.

"And we had damn-well better use it before it runs out," he takes me by the wrist and pulls me toward it. I can't even refuse him before I'm yanked through the weird shimmering air, and the world around us transforms from misty beachfront to a boggy, swampy city. The light here is dull, filtered through heavy, dark mist and surrounded with shady willow trees, and all around us tower these tall, cold stone buildings and walls. I'll admit, I sort of wish we could've stayed at the ocean a little longer. I love the smell of sea spray, and although I'm pretty sure I can still smell the ocean here too, it's got a dank, overripe sense to it.

"Huh," Fyr straightens his tunic out and brushes out wrinkles as we both take in our surroundings. "Makes sense he'd be in Theramore."

" _Is_ he here?" I ask slowly, scanning for the man. There aren't many people around us, and those who are seem in a hurry to be somewhere else. If we _did_ manage to create a doorway to James, he must've booked it before we got here.

"Can't have gone far," the tall elf hums. "Follow close to me."

Although I'm still feeling bewildered at the impossibility of what we just did, I do as he says, sticking near him as he takes off through the town. We weave past merchant carts and tall buildings, keeping our paces quick on the cobblestone path that winds in a broad curve. I keep my eye out, studying every form we see as we pass them, until through the throngs of heavily-armored infantry and plainly-dressed townspeople I finally catch sight of a dark figure that darts between two buildings. I see brown curls and a familiar-looking tattered backpack disappearing into shadow, and I grab Fyr's elbow.

"There," I point in the space between the buildings. It's kind of an alley, but not quite wide enough to be considered one. A small car could probably barely fit between them, if the mirrors were pulled in.

"You sure?"

"Pretty sure I saw your bag."

Fyr nods and beelines for the alley, and I hurry after as best as I can. I still feel goosebumps prickling my skin, and exhaustion pulls at me, but my mind is moving fast enough that I can't really address my issues. Right as we make it between the buildings, Fyr's voice barks out a demand.

"Reid," he shouts, and the shadow at the end of the alley stops still.

"James?" I call out curiously.

The figure doesn't move for a couple slow seconds as we draw forward, and then I hear James's familiar, saccharine voice escape the shadows.

"Ah, I knew the universe couldn't keep us apart, Love," he says, walking into the light, and I see an impish grin pulling at his lips and his eyes on me.

"Unfortunately for you, that includes me," Fyr adds. "Come on, you must've known you couldn't get away with this."

"I already have," James laughs. "What makes you think you have the upper hand?"

"Well, I do have a mage," he gestures toward me. "I'm willing to let you off entirely, if you return to us what you stole—a more than fair trade."

"'Us?' Now, if I'm not mistaken, I didn't steal a thing from Ava, so your argument should really only be for yourself. Don't drag her into your affairs; that's quite tasteless."

"That crystal amulet you took from the elves? She needs it. And I would like my bag back, as well as my bounty list and coins. Apart from that, nothing."

"Give a bounty hunter his bounties? That's like lining up all of my friends and handing their executioner his blade. You're quite thick in the skull, aren't you"

Fyr loses his patience almost immediately. "You've exhausted your luck, rat."

James takes a step toward Fyr, an obvious challenge. He's still at least four yards from us. "Well, I don't believe in luck."

Fyr advances on him, and James dodges and laughs aloud, "No luck," he repeats, "only skill!"

I let out a weird sound, a mixture between a frustrated groan and a whimper, when they break into a scuffle, with Fyr attacking and James blocking and dodging. At least the space here is larger than that tiny bedroom they were in last time a fight almost broke out, but now they have almost too much room, and it's like a Tom and Jerry cartoon. They both look ridiculous. Neither are using the many weapons they both have sheathed at their belts, and I can't tell if that's stupid or smart, but I am relieved.

They both land a few scuffs and punches, and at this point I really begin to wonder at how evenly-matched they are, regardless of size. I totally expected Fyr to completely kick James's ass, but he's having a harder time of it than I anticipated.

Soon enough Fyr manages to grab James by the cuff of his shirt, and he wrenches him around, knocking his elbow hard against James's temple in an attempt to stun him.

James takes the blow easier than expected, reaches down to a sheath on his thigh, and pulls out a tiny knife that glistens like it's wet. Before Fyr can stop him or grab his own knife, James stabs the tiny blade, can't be more than two inches long, into Fyr's upper chest. Fyr should have been wearing his leather armor, but all he has is his shirt, and it of course does nothing to help.

Fyr growls and hits James again really hard, but then without warning, sinks to the ground like a sack of grain, suddenly out cold.

"What the hell?!" I burst forward, dropping to a squat beside the unconscious Fyr. "What did you do to him? Is he dead?" The idea fills me with dread and panic. I notice, in the back of my mind, that those feelings don't spark a single bit of magic in me. That exhaustion from earlier follows me even now, like I'm drained. Maybe I used up my magic.

James recovers from Fyr's second attack, which hit home a lot harder than the first. He's sporting a bloody nose, which he staves with his left glove. "He'll wake up in a matter of hours; those elves have outrageous metabolisms. Now, why don't you tell me what is going on, Ava? I trust you'll have more decency than him in holding a civil conversation?" He pulls out a handkerchief and presses it to his nostrils, and already it starts to dye a deep crimson.

I stare at Fyr, still a little in shock, and do my best to consider what James just asked me.

"He wants that bag back. He's…attached to it, I guess. I don't know. And the necklaces you stole from the elves; they're the only thing, apparently, that'll help me."

James sniffs and readjusts the handkerchief. "Let us take a moment to consider. Say I give you the jewels and the bag. What does that leave for me?" His voice is slightly altered by the nosebleed, and it sounds like he has a sinus cold.

"I'm not sure, just the gold you already have..." I trail away, brows tightening. I'll admit, I sort of expected him to just be nice and give them back. Surely he'd choose me over money, right? Wrong. What an idiotic idea that is, a teenage girl's fantasy.

"I'm sorry. Honestly, Love, I would give you the amulet, but that's what he wants. It'd be too easy."

My mouth drops open. "Are you serious? How fucking petty can you be?"

His nose has stopped bleeding, and he dabs it with the cloth just to be safe. He wipes Fyr's dark blood from his knife onto the handkerchief as well, and then folds it and tucks it in his bag. "I cannot tuck tail and concede to a bully! You must understand, this is for his sake. He ought to learn a lesson from this."

"He doesn't even want the crystals; I do! He just wants the bag. The only one you're really pissing on here is me, James!"

"I'll cut you a deal," James produces the amulet from the stolen bag on his shoulder and holds it up, where it dangles like a clock pendulum. "You come with me, I'll give you the amulet. Stick with him, you won't be so fortunate."

"I have no idea how to use or activate the amulet," I argue. "It's useless without help from the elves."

"You'll figure it out! You're a smart one, clearly, if you've already learned to create portals. I saw that one you summoned just a foot away from me back there. Scared the daylights out of me. I'm no magician, but I know that takes skill and practice, especially to an unfamiliar location." He taps his nose. "You'll figure it out, I guarantee it."

"You can't guarantee a thing," I frown. "Neither of you can, but at least with him, I have a connection to the mages who are my best chance." I glance at Fyr. He looks kind of peaceful, passed out on the ground there. I mean, other than having a knife sticking out of him. I want to remove it, but I don't know if I should.

"You're out of luck, then." He tucks away the amulet.

"Thought you said you don't believe in luck," I glower. "Please, James, just the one amulet. You're not giving him anything by helping me, and you know it."

"Either come with me, or find another way." He's giving me this apologetic look, but I know it's bullshit. If he were actually apologetic, he'd give it to me.

I know he thinks I'm going to accept. I know that he's doing this on purpose, manipulating me to run off with him and leave Fyr passed out in an alley. He's making it my only choice. I'm seeing a side to James that infuriates me, and I'm hit with such a strong surge of tenacious resentment that I'm practically spitting fire.

"You know what?" I hiss, standing tall and placing myself over Fyr without really considering it. "No. No, I won't go with you. I won't play your trivial, stupid fucking game. Either give me back the amulet and the bag, or you can kindly fuck off."

He looks surprised, but he holds his own. "Well, then," he blinks a couple times, and at first I think maybe he's rethinking his ultimatum, but then he just shrugs. A look of calculating thought crosses over his face. "I thought you and I were to get along great, but now I'm going to have to make your life very difficult. You want your crystals back? You will play my game."

"Your game?"

"Want your things? You'll have to catch me, first. I'm sure you'll do just fine, with a bounty hunter at your side. You've lost a valuable ally. And a spouse, I suppose." He laughs at that last part.

I stand there speechless, staring at him incredulously. "James, you can't be serious."

"I am extraordinarily serious. You've chosen the wrong side, Love. When your brute awakens, inform him that he should set his destination for the Deepwater Tavern, across the sea. The _Lady Mehley_ leaves harbor tomorrow; unless you choose portals, it's your best bet." Then, he gives me a mischievous grin. "Until next time, Ava. I cannot wait for our paths to intersect."

I'm so dumbstruck, I simply stare slack-jawed as he walks past me into the road, turns left, and disappears.

An intense wave of hopelessness drags me down, and for the first time since I've arrived, I genuinely feel like I'm about to cry. I'm pissed at my own temper, but I also feel so wronged. How is it that out of everything that's happened, _I_ have to be the one to get the short straw? How come I have to be punished for something I'm not freaking responsible for? This is preposterous. Yes, I chose to stay with Fyr instead of James, but that was for my own good. He should have understood this. It wasn't a choice of personal attachment. In my own way, I've tried to stay neutral in this.

That's what this whole thing was about, I conclude. It's a personal spat between two men, and I got dragged into it. It's unfair, and James had better clear his head and recognize that it's unfair before we catch him next, or it won't be Fyr beaming him in the nose, it'll be me.

I kneel down beside Fyr, wondering what to do now. I have an unconscious, three-hundred-pound elf with a poisoned knife embedded in his left pectoral to deal with. I at first think I should take the knife out, but then I wonder if it'll cause bleeding. What if it punctured something important, and it's doing that whole 'cork' thing, and if I pull it out, he dies? Worst-case, sure, but still possible.

So, I decide to get him out of this alley. There's got to be someone who can help him, someone nearby.

I walk to the end of the alleyway and look both ways, scoping the area. The building to my left, when I look up at the sign, says it's an inn. It's tiny, just one story, and looks shady as hell, but that doesn't faze me.

As soon as I walk inside, though, I realize I'm an idiot, and I should've been fazed.

At first, I think they're three hulking, malformed humans, but I quickly notice that they're covered in fur. They're standing in a tight group as if discussing something, but when I enter, three pairs of wolfish eyes fall on me. They're wolves. Werewolves. Dog-people, whatever. They're showing teeth as long as my fingers, and I lose all control over my muscles, which lock up and hold me immobile.

"Can I help you?" the one closest to me asks in a husky growl, an inhuman voice speaking human words, and I just give a meager squeak in response.

Another one looks me over. "Looks like she's seen a ghost. You haunted, Lady?"

My eyes can't even blink, and they just widen further.

The third wolf makes a sound that I soon understand is laughter. "She ain't haunted, she's pissin' her knickers at the sight of your ugly mugs. 'Ello, miss," he pushes past the two. He's the biggest of the three. "Don't you worry about Kate and Bernard here, they're none but lovey lapdogs. What's your story? Your skin's paler than the whites of your eyes."

I open and close my mouth, trying to generate a voice, or a whisper, or any form of audible communication. Panic is creeping up my spine and into my throat. I force myself to calm down and _think_. These creatures aren't creatures; they are people with names like 'Kate'. They're talking to me. _Talking._ Words. Intelligence, and politeness. I should only be as scared of them as I am of Fyr, the giant purple alien who's kept me alive these past few days.

The _unconscious_ giant purple alien, with a knife in his chest.

That snaps me back to the present like nothing else.

"Yes, please, I need help," I finally blurt. "If you have the time."

"Certainly, mate," the big wolf tips his head as if he's got a hat on, and then I actually _do_ see a tiny black top hat resting between his fuzzy ears. He was too tall before for me to see it. "How can we 'elp?"

"My friend is hurt. He's just outside. He got stabbed, and he's poisoned. I don't know who to go to."

"I'll gladly see what I can do," he suddenly seems more serious. "Poisoned? Take me to 'im. I've got some training in first aid."

"Thank you," I breathe, ignoring for the moment the fact that I'm commissioning medical help from a talking half-wolf, half-human in a top-hat. He isn't asking for anything in return; this is better than I could have hoped for. I lead him back to Fyr, who hasn't budged.

The wolf kneels down beside him, looking more feral than ever when he does so, and sniffs the blade that's stuck in Fyr's chest.

"Well, 'es not dead."

"I...I know," I say slowly. "Can you help him? Or at least help me carry him somewhere where someone can?"

"I'll 'andle it; give me a tick o' the clock and I'll have him on his way to recovery. Come 'ere," he beckons with a giant paw-like hand.

I kneel down beside him, and with an easy grab-and-tear, he rips Fyr's nice clean shirt into rags and stuffs a pile of cloth in my hand. "Press hard on the wound as soon as I remove the knife."

I nod, gripping the cloth tightly, and I cringe at the sound the blade makes when it leaves its bloody scabbard. I mash the cloth down against Fyr's bare chest, pressing hard with both hands and locking my elbows so the strength comes from my back. As soon as I've covered the wound, I glance at Fyr's exposed chest and shoulders. He has a full tattoo sleeve on his left arm that I'd never seen 'til now, and it spreads over his shoulder, ribs, and chest, and then mirrors somewhat onto his other side in some areas. The designs are sharp, thin, and look sort of like a type of writing, like old runes. I wonder what they say.

"If it's poison, it's best we clean it before dressing," the wolf says in his gruff voice. "Hold there."

He disappears and returns about a minute later with a flask that looks tiny in his hands, as well as a fishing pole for some reason, and he kneels by me again.

"Lift the cloth."

I do.

He pours a clear, potent alcohol onto the small but deep cut, which mixes in with the blood and seeps into the wound. The sight is nauseating, but I keep my calm by holding my breath and looking away.

"Pressure."

I press into it again, the cloth soaking up all the blood that had escaped in such a short amount of time. I notice, curiously, that even his blood, although still reddish, is actually purple, too. It seeps into the light cloth in a deep, maroon mauve. So, we don't all bleed red, although against his own lavender skin, it looks red enough.

I watch as the wolf unreels his line some, then douses it and the hook in the booze. Then he bends the hook out quite a bit straighter, until it's more of a needle.

"Alright, lift it off o' there."

I pull the cloth away and watch as he stitches Fyr's cut with a freaking fishing line. He's meticulous and careful, tying off a few stitches before he decides he's done, and the bleeding has slowed to nothing.

So, in a place where people can heal broken bones with magic, basic surgical knowledge is still important. Good to know. I feel beyond lucky that this guy knew what he was doing, even if he did just mix surgery with fishing.

"Thank you," I give a relieved sigh as the wolf re-ties his hook to his line and bends it back to normal, and he gives me a friendly nod.

"Shall I carry him into the inn for you? Can't imagine you two want to spend your afternoon lying in an alley. I've seen this poison, common among rogues. Can put a man under for a day, if it's strong enough."

I accept his offer, and he takes care of it for me. When we go inside, I request we just get a bunk for Fyr to sleep it off, and when I open my purse to retrieve that extra silver I'd saved from him, I'm shocked to find an entire satchel full of gold; it takes up almost all the space in my purse. I'd thought it'd felt heavier. I have no idea where it came from, but if I had to guess, it'd be James.

The wolf, whose name I still didn't ever ask for, leaves Fyr on the bed for me and bids me farewell. I slip him a gold piece as thanks, amazed and a little stunned that I found a Good Samaritan in the form of a werewolf.

I'm left alone in the room; Fyr has the final rags of his shirt bandaged around his chest to dress the wound, and with nowhere else to sit other than the bed, I leave our bags against the wall and relax down beside him. My eyes, against my better judgment, drift over his shirtless shoulders, chest, and stomach, and it doesn't take long for me to start blushing. He's frustratingly beautiful to look at, sculpted like a work of art by Michelangelo himself, all healthily-built with dense, full muscles that dip and swell impeccably, and a youthful complexion. He's got scars all over the place; nicks and cuts litter his arms especially, over the thick, visible veins that run over his forearms and the tattoos as well.

His chest pulses subtly with his shallow, silent breathing, and his face is smooth and calm and void of expression entirely.

I really, really want to touch him. Not in a weird way, more in the way that I'd wanted to touch his face that one time: it's just that sometimes I forget that this is all _real_ , that he is real, that he's flesh and blood. Of course, seeing him copiously bleeding helped ground me, but...

Ah, fuck it.

I reach out and gently trail my fingertips across the bare, lavender skin of his inked shoulder. He's warm to the touch, possibly feverish. I wonder if he does have a fever, or if it's an elf thing. I hope it's not a fever.

His muscles give a slight flutter, a sleep twitch that trickles from his shoulder to his stomach. It's the first movement he's made since he passed out, and I hope he's waking, if anything just so I stop having an excuse to drool over him. But, he doesn't twitch again, and even after waiting about sixty more seconds, still nothing.

I lay my head onto my pillow, face turned toward him, and make myself comfortable. I'll probably be here for a while.

* * *

Thanks to all the sleep I've had recently, I'm unable to doze off the entire time I wait for Fyr to come to.

Hours—or what feels like it—pass as I simply wait and stare and think and daydream, lying on my side, watching the elf breathe in and out, in and out, in the silent room. I'm thankful there's a window in here, albeit tiny and far too high up for me to see out of, which lets in fresh air and sounds of seagulls and daily bustle from outside. I'm pretty sure I also hear ocean waves. They're distant, but distinct.

At this point, I start to wonder if maybe the poison has worn off and now Fyr's just plain sleeping, so I scoot toward him to pat him on the shoulder.

Just the motion of me jostling the bed causes him to inhale deeply, and for no explainable reason, I freeze as if I don't want to wake him. Then I remember that that's my exact goal, but as soon as my hand touches his skin, he jolts upright.

Before I know what's happening, we both tumble off the bed and I'm slammed against the floor. Fyr's entire body follows mine, and I'm unlucky enough to be the thing to cushion his fall.

"Oof-!" I fight to breathe as he complains at the same time.

"Ohhh," he groans next to my ear as if in pain, still on top of me, suffocating me. He lifts himself onto an elbow and pulls back, wincing, and makes eye contact with me. I try my hardest to ignore the way his shirtless body feels against mine, and I focus on regaining my oxygen.

I'm gasping in deep breaths when he looks at me with the most hesitant, confused look I've ever seen.

Then to my surprise, he dips into a deep, rolling laugh, warmer and more infectious than anything I've ever heard come from the man. If I weren't so distressed, I'd probably contract it.

"...What?" I snap, miffed. He's still on top of me, and he's shirtless, and his warmth is radiating through my thin shirt and into my skin underneath. It's not the worst position in the world, granted, but I feel like he's laughing _at_ me.

"Nothing, just..." he chuckles, and the way his laughter quakes his body against mine makes my cheeks heat, but before I can say anything more, he does roll off of me and onto his back beside me. "Your face. I violently...fell on you, and all you did was glare at me as if I'd insulted your grandma or something. I felt like _I_ was the one under attack."

"I was glaring?" My voice isn't as harsh as before.

"Yes. I'm sorry, I would've apologized, but I was too stunned to move."

"Right, well," my heart is still hammering like hell in my chest at the physical tension I'm feeling here, though at least he isn't toasting my whole body with his anymore. Now the only heat I'm feeling is my own, and it feels somewhat lacking now that he's gone. "If you _had_ insulted my grandma, you'd have gotten more than a glare, I'll tell you that much."

He chuckles more at that, and then finally starts to calm. "What happened?"

I peer over at him. We're both still lying on the floor of the inn, facing the ceiling. He's tenderly investigating the stitches on his chest, apparently just now realizing they're there. I'm assuming that he hasn't moved yet due to the stab wound, and I feel kind of bad that he doesn't have any of those healing potions left, considering I hogged them.

"You mean just now, when you invaded every part of my personal space, or back when James poisoned you and I had to recruit a werewolf to stitch you up with his fishing pole?"

He mouths the last few words of my question silently, and then he looks over at me, his long, amethyst hair pooling on the floor by his face. "Say again?"

"What part of that was hard to understand?" I tease. "I mean, I enunciated well, and—"

"Ava."

I smirk, sitting upright and leaning my elbow on a knee comfortably. "James knocked you out with that poisoned knife. He gave me an ultimatum between helping you and leaving with him in exchange for the amulet. Then I got mad and said some things that didn't help, and he left. He told me to tell you to find him in some tavern... Darkwater? Deepwater. Yeah. Deepwater Tavern. He's long gone by now; I'm pretty sure you were out cold for at least a few hours. He said there's a ship leaving tomorrow that we should take. So, here we are."

Before he can answer me on that, I remember something else, and I hop up to grab my purse. "I think I have something that belongs to you."

By the time I've grabbed it and turned around, Fyr is standing, and I falter at the sight of all seven-whatever feet of him towering in front of me. He wasn't so imposing when he was sitting or lying down. I blink it away as well as I'm able to and open my purse.

"I think James might've given me your coins. You said he stole yours, and then I found this," I pull out the satchel and hand it to him. It fits right in his giant hand, whereas it had taken both of mine.

He opens it, and his brows arch. "This is far more than what I owned." He jingles it a couple times, like he's feeling out its weight. "Got to be...what, sixty, seventy pieces here? I had half that on me."

"Well," I shrug, "It's yours. I don't have much use for it. Consider it repayment for your teapot, I guess."

"Wait. There's a note in it," Fyr peers into the bag and pulls out a tiny bit of paper, and reads it aloud. " _For your debt to the elf, and a little taste of royalty, too. -Reid_." He pauses. "Well, that's strangely kind of him."

"What?" I reach out and take the paper, and read it. "Weird."

"Why didn't you go with him?" Fyr asks me, as if I made the wrong choice.

I pause for a good two seconds, wondering if he's serious. "Well what would _you_ have done if you had to choose between getting your stuff back or leaving your traveling partner stabbed and poisoned in an alley?"

Not to mention, at least Fyr has a basic knowledge of magic. James, I'm guessing, does not.

"You really want me to answer that, Princess?" A smile forms slowly in the corner of his mouth. He's in one of his weirdly cheerful moods, one I've only gotten to see one other time, when his cheeriness was at my expense.

My eyes narrow, and I tilt my head at him for using that name. "I do."

Fyr takes a calm step toward me, and I'm suddenly aware of our proximity and that I am a shrimp compared to him. Before now, even when he'd pinned me to the floor, I'd not seen him in this way. He's standing at full height without his shirt to mask his body; he looks even more gigantic without it, which you'd expect would be the other way around. His proportions, huge in the shoulders and narrow in the hips, are so exaggerated, like he's photoshopped or something equally as ridiculous. He doesn't have grossly-shredded Hollywood abs, but they're damn-well close. He'd probably be terrifying if he flexed.

I think he notices me staring below his face, because he visibly hides a smile by biting the inside of his cheek. Then he gives me a direct, conversational expression. "If I were you in that situation, I would have acknowledged that people are selfish and unforgiving, and that they don't owe me a single thing no matter how much I may do for them, and, that when presented with an opportunity to help myself, I would undoubtedly, unquestioningly take it. The only reward for heroism in this world is death, and it is naive to think otherwise."

"It's a good thing you're not me, then, because if you were, there'd be a dead-ish elf in the alley with your face and it'd be your fault."

"Would it not be the fault of the one who caused the injury?"

"That's not an argument worth arguing. Are you saying you're ungrateful?" My brows arch.

"No, certainly not, I'm simply saying that logically, you should not have made the choice you did. You should have been more selfish."

"Well, your 'logic' is stupid as shit, so I don't agree with you. If I had gone with him, I would still have no idea how to use the amulet, nor would I have any chance at finding my way back to the people who _could_ help me. And lastly, he's really not my favorite person right now. I'd much rather stick around someone like you than someone like him. Don't even try to say that _you'd_ want to buddy up with James Reid."

He looks off beside me, like he's staring straight through the wall, and his eyes narrow in thought. "I might not approve of that man's choices or lifestyle or actions, but I can't claim to be any more helpful to you, specifically, than he is. I have nothing to offer you."

"You have access to people who are my only hope. James just stole from those people, so he'd be of no use there. And you've saved my life multiple times. Until someone else can say the same, I'll choose to stick with you until I can find my way home." I hesitate then, realizing I'm asking a lot from him. "Unless, that is, you don't want me to. I know I've given you a billion reasons not to want to—"

"You can stay," he puts in quickly. "You've earned your welcome to travel with me. I don't...I don't mind."

I hesitate, then give him a partial smile and nod. "Thank you. I know it's inconvenient for you, so um…thank you."

I grimace at repeating myself. Why are we so abruptly being polite to each other? It feels...impersonal. Kind of weird. Awkward, even. I don't really know how to explain it.

"Not that inconvenient. We both are after the same goal now, aren't we?" he smirks. "And I'll admit, you don't make the worst company."

 _Was that a compliment?_

I can't hide the mysterious grin that pulls at my cheeks. I'm not sure if I feel smug or surprised.

He groans and shakes his head in defeat. "Wipe that off your face, or I'll take it back."

I keep grinning as all the awkwardness from earlier is whisked away with his threat.

He lifts his bag and sets it onto the bed, and starts digging through it. "On to the important matter at hand: how confident are you to make another portal to him?"

"Actually, I was gonna ask you about that," I lose my smile. "I'm pretty sure it drained me, or something."

"Drained you? One portal? How so?" he pauses and turns toward me with a grey shirt in one hand.

"As soon as I did it, I got really tired. Like, _really_ tired. My eyes stopped focusing. And then I felt that cold, creepy feeling and hallucinated the weird whispering sound and the hands on me—"

"Hands?" Fyr's fingers are the only part of him that move as they curl tightly into the shirt.

"Well, not real ones; there was no one there," I reason. "It just felt like someone was sliding their hands over my skin. But that's beside the point. I just got super tired and—"

"Why didn't you mention that?"

"It's not exactly a normal thing to bring up in conversation. 'Oh, by the way, I got felt up by my own imagination,'" I mock with a laugh.

Fyr actually looks alarmed, which sobers me up pretty fast. He turns back to his bag and resumes putting his shirt on, and as he pulls his long hair through the collar, he speaks up.

"So. No more portals. Looks like we're traveling by sea."

"Why no more portals?" Obviously, judging by his reaction, what I described wasn't all my imagination.

He turns his head toward me. "I...fucked up. We'll find you those amulets, but in the meantime, the less magic you use, the better. That's all you really need to know."

I want to badger him with questions, but by now I know that he's as stubborn as I am, and we'd be stuck in an unending circle. Plus, I'm not one to argue against his choice to not use magic. It's not my favorite thing by any means, and I'd be happier without it anyway.

I nod a single time. "Okay, deal."

He lifts a brow at me. "No questions?"

"None that'll get answered, so, no questions."

He looks pleasantly surprised. "Alright."

"Alright," I shrug.

He smirks and straps his backpack over a shoulder. "Are you hungry?"

"Very."

"Really? Follow me." Fyr walks past me, and I just barely hear him grumble about me under his voice, "Elune forbid the woman actually communicate her needs as they arise. I'm no mind-reader."

"You want communication?" I snark as I trail after him. I'm not actually mad, mostly just bored and taking advantage of the invitation to keep myself occupied. "Wouldn't mind a nice hot cup of coffee, a hairbrush, some toothpaste, a bra..."

We leave the inn, with me still grumbling to myself as we navigate the streets. Fyr shows no indication that he hears me, but I know his keen ears can.

"...a psychologist, cell service, clothing that _actually_ fits..."

Seagulls' cries and the buzz of voices gradually start to drone out my mumbling as we head through town, and soon enough I practically have to latch a hand onto Fyr to keep from losing him in the crowds. We've entered some sort of market. A fish market, by the smell of it, and sure enough I see a line of docks stretching out into the water. They are crowded with people who look like stereotypical privateers and sailors, wearing loose-fitting, open-chested shirts and rolled-up trousers, and anything from bare feet to full leather boots. Half of them have some sort of cloth wrapped over their foreheads to keep hair and sweat out of their eyes, and they're all busy with something, be it transporting crates or communicating poorly with people who are too far away.

But Fyr leads me past the crowds and the docks, on to a small building with a smoking chimney. The door is heavy and closes hard behind us, shutting out most of the natural light from outside and leaving only lamplight. At first I think the place is going to feel kind of stale and musty, but the air is clean, a little smoky, and bears an inviting scent of cooked meats and stored grains.

Fyr approaches the counter whilst pulling out his money.

"Any chance you've got liquid energy available? Closer to rocket fuel, the better."

I wonder what kind of potion he's talking about.

The salesman across from him offers a nod. "I've got a hot canister in the back, fresh-brewed, if you're in need of a fix."

"Even better," Fyr nods back immediately, "I'd appreciate that. Thank you."

A few moments pass as the guy disappears behind a doorway, and then he returns with a metal canteen and a short handmade cup. He plants them on the counter in front of Fyr. "Have at it."

I still haven't made a connection regarding what Fyr just bought, but as soon as he opens the lid of the canteen and I get a whiff of the strong, rich scent of coffee, I stare with my lips parted and eyes wide.

He pours the gorgeous black liquid into the cup and then hands it to me. His eyes flicker with humor as he watches me staring at it like it's the best thing to happen to me all week. In its own way, it is.

"This is...coffee!" I inhale its vapors deeply.

"First item on your list, aye. And it's getting cold."

My intense gratitude makes me giddy; the smell itself energizes me, and I take a mouthful. It's straight, black, bitter coffee, and it's more magical than anything I've experienced in this world. In a fit of joy and with a huge smile on my face, I grin up at Fyr.

Oh, I could kiss this guy. My eyes linger on his mouth, which is stuck in a kind of humored halfway-smile at my transformation. I realize, in my elated state, I want to do exactly that—kiss him, that is—and it takes all of my self-control to remain exactly where I am and not actually do it. That'd be too far, even for me. Just the thought of doing that makes my pulse jump like crazy.

"You have no idea what you've just done for me," I smile and bring my coffee back to my mouth, if anything just to distract my lips.

He gives me a benign laugh. "I think I can take a wild guess."

Then he turns back to the shopkeep, who looks bored. I stay fixated on my coffee. As soon as it's cooled enough to drink safely, I start to down the entire cup. I would savor, but I don't have _that_ much self-control left.

Fyr glances at me, "Before I buy, is there any food to which you are averse for any reason?"

"No, I'm pretty enthusiastic when it comes to eating," I smile brightly, feeling the oncoming effects of this caffeine. I feel better than I have since I arrived in Azeroth; partially just because I no longer have broken bones and I'm clean and dry, and also because this coffee is fantastic and energizing to boot.

Fyr buys bread, cheese, meats, and some cooking salts.

Then I see a slight dimple on his cheek. "Add a pound of ground Zandal roast and a filter cloth, please? I have a feeling it'll come in handy," he shoots a look at me as I nurse my 'liquid energy', his silvery eyes twinkling. He takes the food and coffee grounds once it's all been wrapped and fits it in his bag, pays for everything, and then we're off again. As usual, he wordlessly leads the way.

I'm partially blinded when we step outside. The sun escaped cloud cover while we were indoors; it's just at that edge between day and evening, where it's low enough to be shining directly in the eyes but not so low it's started to dim. It ignites the buildings around us, turning the cold stone walls into glittering reflections. It's the first time since I've arrived that I've been bathed fully in sunlight, and in its own way, it is uplifting. It's the little things that count, despite my retinas crying out in pain.

"What now?" I ask Fyr as he steadily leads me back the way we came earlier.

"I have to get something sorted out. Mind if we sit?" He gestures off to the side, where there rests a vacant stone bench in a patch of grass.

I nod, also hoping we'll get some of that food out.

As if he reads my mind, Fyr hands me a hunk of bread as soon as we get situated on the bench, and I devour it. It's so different than the breads back home; this stuff is crunchy, whole grain, and the crust is thick, and it tastes less...sweet. Way healthier than what I'm used to eating.

As I stuff my face with cheese curds and bread and summer sausage slices, I watch what Fyr's doing. He sifts through papers so quickly I can't get a proper idea of what they are for, and as the caffeine's effects finally reach their full potential, I start to fidget. I don't want to interrupt him, but I can't much help it.

"What are you reading?"

He doesn't skip a beat. "Requests."

"For?"

"Help."

"Like jobs?"

"Exactly like jobs."

"What language is that one?" I reach out and point at a line of symbols at the bottom of one paper that's unreadable.

"Dwarven."

A couple seconds pass that feel like minutes.

"Is that the ship we're taking tomorrow?" I point off toward the docks at a large, old-fashioned style brigantine that's being unloaded.

Fyr shakes his head without even looking up. "The ship to Menethil is docked on the other end."

I lean forward so I can see all the way down the docks. It's tough, but I think I do see the tops of another giant ship's masts. "What about that big one way down there?"

"Possibly."

"What time are we supposed to leave tomorrow?"

"Transoceanic ships leave at daybreak. No earlier than seven."

"Oh. How much will it cost?"

"...Ava," Fyr gives a quiet sigh through his nose. "Please, pocket your questions just for a few minutes. Find something else to do."

"Sorry, sure," I shrug.

By the time Fyr lifts his head and realizes what he's done, I'm halfway into the market. I've kept him in my sight the entire time I went off to explore so that I wouldn't lose him, but even so, he scoops his things into his bag and briskly jogs after me.

His large hand loops around my wrist. "Are you trying to get lost?"

"No, I'm just curious. And bored. What in the world do you people do for fun here?"

Fyr makes an exasperated sound and coaxes me to follow him out of the shops. He's officially taken me on as a responsibility. I feel a little guilty for stressing him out, but part of me—the part that's getting to know him—knows that he's not as annoyed as he lets on.

On our way out, though, he pauses by one merchant, hesitates, and then purchases what looks to me like a Rubik's cube, just a little less brightly-colored. He puts it in my hand with no explanation, and leads me all the way back to our room at the inn. By the time we get through the door, I'm deeply engrossed in this toy. It works just like a Rubik's cube, but the six colors are pearly-white, grey, red, blue, purple, and gold, and it's made of wood.

As I slowly sink down on the edge of the bed while solving the cube, Fyr pats the door frame and makes me look up at him. He's standing outside the door, reaching for the handle.

"I'll be back tonight. Working some odd jobs and making a little coin while I can around the city. Please stay here. I left the food and water in the room, so you should have no reason to leave."

"What if I have to pee?" Table's turned, I'm messing with him this time.

"You can leave for the outhouse," Fyr lightly rolls his eyes. "I'll see you tonight."

He closes the door behind him, and I flop onto my back, absorbing myself in the toy.

* * *

Time passes slowly, but not painfully so. The sun sinks into gold, then orange, then red through the little window, until it's a faded bluish purple that turns into night. I turn up the gas lamp on the bed table so I have enough light to figure out my cube. I haven't solved it yet this entire time, but I've taken lots of breaks—which is _definitely_ the reason I've been unsuccessful, and it's _totally_ not because I'm awful at it.

The repetition of the toy makes my eyes start to feel tired and lulls me into a sleepy state. I remove my moccasins and curl up under the warm covers of the bed, slowly rotating the sides of the cube as I feel my consciousness slipping.

Just then the door swings open and Fyr walks in, his boots shuffling against the floor loudly, and I'm forced awake in surprise.

He calmly locks the door, drops his stuff next to it, kicks off his heavy shoes and starts shucking his weapons and armor until he's in his shirt and pants. Then he tiredly stumbles to the bed, pulls open the covers, flops in beside me, and is apparently asleep the second his head hits the pillow.

Oh. Apparently we're sleeping in the same bed. I didn't even really think about that.

I'm sitting there dazed, wondering how he dozed off so quickly. Whatever job he just did must have exhausted him. I send him a lingering stare and then, after a moment of accepting the idea of literally getting in bed with an alien, I start playing with my cube again. Until now I haven't realized the sound the cube makes when I rotate it, and I cringe a little as it makes a little scraping noise. I don't want to be too loud.

I try to turn it more carefully, hoping it'll be quieter, but all it does is draw out the sound longer.

 _Schhhrk!_

I mouth an 'F' as I cringe, but rotate it again.

Fyr, eyes still closed, stirs and reaches his arm out, gently takes the cube from my hand without looking, and reaches across me to set it on the table.

"Bedtime now. Sweet dreams," he says in a voice slurred by sleep, patting my face as he pulls his hand back over me, which I don't think was intentional. I think he aimed for my shoulder or something but got my entire face instead, and was too tired to correct himself.

Then he rolls over on his side, away from me, and sighs contentedly at his newfound silence.

One of his fingers has tangled the eyelashes in my left eye from when he patted my face, and I blink excessively as I reach over to dim the lamp as well.

"You too," I retort with the gnawing worry that considering the previous nights, my own dreams will be anything but sweet.

* * *

 _Author's Note & Discussion:_

 _I stayed away from a cliffhanger, since my updates are becoming a monthly thing. Hope you readers don't mind much. :)_

 _Review 1: Bohmzawe -Thank you, that's some seriously high praise! :) And I'm glad you caught onto the amulet. Obviously it's clarified its purpose in this chapter, but it does start a bit of an avalanche._

 _Review 2: Ernest Shippinglane89 - Lighthouse? That actually made me laugh out loud. He even has the glowing eyes._

 _Review 3: Rudhlomiel Luminous - Thank you, too! I'm glad you're enjoying!_

 _Review 4: ylrissa: What a wonderful review! Thank you for taking the time; it's very encouraging! And as for James, I share your bad-boy bias, so I've got lots in store for him yet. :D I'm trying to keep myself brief so I don't get tempted to spoil, lol._

 _Review 5: Ria - Thank you! I'm glad you've stuck it this far and are enjoying it! Like I said, super encouraging! :) I do my best._

 _Review 6: Canis Zol - Good to hear! Thank you!_

 _Review 7: Truth and Chaos - Thanks! So glad you like it._


	6. Chapter 6: Innocent, Incarcerated

Cool, damp air drafts through my room and out the loose window pane beside me as I doze off.

The sound of the ship surging through the water, coupled with wind in the sails, closely resembles that of a train—not a train's whistle, but its wheels, from far, far away. Quiet and rhythmic and comforting. Across the cabin, Fyr sleeps in a cot identical to mine; it's too small for him, and his gigantic feet dangle off the edge, but he doesn't seem to care. He'd sleep just about anywhere, anytime, I'll bet.

Day sixteen comes to its close on this ship, and I ready myself to experience the nightmare about Fyr that I know waits for me, the dream I've experienced nearly every time I close my eyes as of late. Reluctantly, I fall deeper and deeper into sleep, and sure enough, the vision unfolds in my mind.

But something's different.

Instead of starting out with young Fyr bolting into the small house, he strolls calmly toward the door. Er, not calmly—his face, as I catch a glimpse of it, shocks me. A cold, subtle sneer tugs at a tiny corner of his mouth, and his eyes have darkened. I've never seen an expression like that on a kid. It's evil. No question.

Then I see, to my own panic, the shadowed figure who so many times had attacked and killed the couple in the house.

I step forward, spine tingling and eyes wide when at first I think it's headed for young Fyr, but I realize after a couple seconds that it's not targeting him. It's…accompanying him.

The figure treads past me, closer than I'd ever seen it before. When I try to catch a glimpse of its face, I recoil when all I see is a wispy, black mist under the hood and two green glowing eyes that hold a kind of urgency that seems out-of-place.

Speechless, I watch the two stride easily into the front door, startling the two people inside. Gertrude and Halvard. Their names by now are so familiar to me.

Fyr, in his juvenile voice, utters a command I can't understand, and suddenly the place is thrown to chaos. I'm thankful that this time around, I'm able to look away when the shadow swoops in and attacks the couple. A piercing scream sounds before being cut off abruptly, and when I carefully turn and look again, Fyr walks out of the house as if nothing happened. He snaps his fingers, and the shadow, pretty clearly controlled by him at this point, is forced to follow after.

The expression on his face is so guiltless and cold that panic swells inside me, and I wake myself with a jolt, clammy and panting.

I look in Fyr's direction, and startle harder when I see him awake and looking at me.

"Aah!" I choke, flattening myself against the wall by my sleeping cot. The floor under me sways, not only because I'm on a ship.

"Are you going to be all right?" the elf looks at me carefully. Because we've been sharing this room, he knows I have nightmares. Every time, he asks me that question.

I just stare at him. The memory of that cold expression on his face flashes in my eyes, and I feel goosebumps prick my arms. Was that real? Was it actually him?

"I just s-saw…" my voice cuts out. It was too quiet already, but his keen ears caught it anyway.

"A nightmare," he concludes.

I hesitate and nod. I haven't talked to him about my dreams at all after that first time. I want to, heaven knows I want to, but he hasn't exactly given me the time. In the time we've been on this ship, we've barely talked at all. He's always just…gone.

"This time, _you_ killed…them…or, that thing did." Again, my voice gets weak with the tail end of my sentence.

The corners of his jaws jut out when he grinds his teeth suddenly, and he rolls over the other way and faces the wall. "Please, try to get some rest, Ava." His deep voice is quiet and tired.

 _He didn't deny it_ , my inner voice warns loudly. A louder thought reminds me that a person shouldn't have to defend himself against what he did in a goddamn dream.

I lie back down, exceptionally uncomfortable now that the sweat on my back has cooled and feels gross when my shirt sticks to it. My mind races as time ticks past, and slowly my heartbeat returns to normal.

As soon as I finally begin to calm, as soon as my eyes feel heavy and I start to fall asleep, I hear a hissing whisper in my ear that forces me to whip my eyes open. Any fear I felt before is nothing compared to what hits me when two green, ghostly eyes appear just inches from mine, burning like fire. The same eyes I saw in my dream.

"Fear him, fear Fyr, danger is near," the hiss turns into words that seem to come from inside my own head, and I lose my breath.

I can't respond or make a single sound; my voice is caught in my throat. _What in the world was that?_

"Fear Fyr," it repeats more urgently. Honestly, I can't tell if it's saying Fyr's name or the word 'fear.' Or, both?

"Shh," it shushes me, even though I haven't budged. It turns and looks at Fyr carefully, then looks back at me. "Tail, tail, follow my trail. Follow behind me, the truth I'll unveil."

"Get away from me," the words escape my mouth, surprising me. I want Fyr to wake up, but he doesn't budge.

"Help me," the shadow hisses that one single phrase, and I'm both pleased it's quit rhyming, and annoyed at the abruptness.

"No!"

The eyes in front of mine burn brighter, so brightly I wince away and hold my hands up to block. It shies away from me when I move, and this boosts my courage enough for me to talk louder.

"Leave me alone," I continue to hold my hands up, because this seems to keep it at bay.

It shakes urgently, and before I can react, it ghosts forward, aiming straight at my face.

I shriek and scrunch my eyes tight, and the next I know, I jolt awake, again covered in sweat. Faint blue light pours in through our window; apparently that was the shortest night I've ever experienced.

This time, Fyr has sat up and is staring at me the way anyone would stare at someone who wakes them up twice (or was it just once?) in one night by screaming.

"S-sorry," I gasp and grumble to myself, "What the fuck was _that_?"

Fyr watches me warily, but doesn't question anything. "Water?" he hands me a water-skin, unscrewing it.

I gratefully take it with a shaky hand and sip it, calming myself as much as I can. I'm still unsure of what's real and what's not, not to mention still terrified of the Fyr I saw in my sleep, as well as whatever that rhyming shadow was. I honestly don't know what was sleep and what wasn't; I can't tell where the line is drawn, and it's a terrifying realization.

"Are you going hungry?"

"Huh?" my eyes flick up to him, distracting my concern.

"You're thinning." He doesn't even need to frown; I can hear it well enough in his tone. "You are eating?"

I'm thrown a little off-guard; it takes me a couple seconds to come up with a response.

"I decided that withering to nothing on this ship is a good way to ease my insufferable boredom," I smile wryly and lean back against the wall.

He reaches in his bag and digs a little. "These may help your sleep issue," his voice is quiet, and he tosses something small in my lap. My eyes linger on him and then I glance down at the cinched, fist-sized satchel. When I look back up, he's already situating himself to sleep again.

I tug it open to inspect it; it looks like it's filled with…seeds? Nuts?

"Thanks for the nut-sack," I announce playfully.

His sigh is audible across the room, and I am fairly sure I heard a smile in it. But you can never tell with him.

I take one out. Definitely a nut, it looks kind of like an almond, but smaller. Cautiously, I sniff it, put it between my teeth, and nibble. It's easily the blandest thing I've ever eaten second only to water, save for a weirdly medicinal aftertaste. But, it's food. And my last two weeks spent on this ship, I've learned quickly that taste is a luxury. Fresh water is rare, too; in fact, pretty much everyone here drinks what's basically watered down beer. I guess it's safer to drink? I prefer the water-skins Fyr brought, but there's not much left.

Fyr told me that mages can conjure food and water, when taught properly. I've got to learn that trick, stat.

I sit and eat my snack in silence, watching Fyr's shoulders rise and fall slowly. _This is bad,_ I think to myself. _Very bad._ If I thought these were just weird nightmares and didn't know they held any truth to them, it'd be a different story. But what little information I do mention to Fyr, he reacts so strongly and shuts off so quickly, it has to hold some merit to it. He's emotionally connected to my dreams. Whatever I saw last night, it's at least partially...real. Fyr didn't exactly deny killing those people. He didn't deny their existence, either.

I don't know how or why I keep dreaming about this creepy shit from his childhood, but I want it to stop.

I glance at the elf, then at the bag of food in my hand and quickly decide that I will _not_ be going back to sleep.

While I'm here, while I'm stuck, I need to focus on what's actually important to me, and that is the sole goal of getting back home. And I need to focus on the fact that every day is getting me one step closer to that goal. No matter what or who Fyr is or what he's done before I came along, he has treated me well and is helping me. That's what matters. So I'm going to eat my medicinal nuts in peace and think happy thoughts.

I step out the door, snacks in hand, and ease it shut as quietly as possible. As soon as I turn around, though, a noise stops in my throat and fights to break free in the form of a choked yelp.

"Warning, Ava Warner," pipes a familiar, urgent voice from—a _child,_ a pale-skinned, green-eyed little boy wearing a dark cloak. I know, from the burning eyes, that it's the shadow thing I'd seen in my dream. But it—he—is just standing here innocently. The shadow is just a kid?

I'm completely frozen in a mixture of confused terror and intrigue, and part of me is kicking myself to _wake the fuck up_. Because this has to be another dream, right? This thing isn't _actually_ standing in front of me. Not only that, but the only people who know my real last name are Fyr and James, but here this thing just said it at me.

Maybe...it's not real. Maybe if I ignore it, it will disappear. Although, it's not like that trick has worked for me at all thus far.

"Mind the mortal of elven-kind," the boy-thing says nervously, before I can make good on my decision to pretend he doesn't exist. He genuinely looks scared, and I can't tell if that makes me sympathetic or just more freaked out.

"Do you mean Fyr?" my curiosity asks before my brain can tether itself, all the while the rest of me is resisting a full-blown panic. This isn't the weirdest or scariest thing I've seen here, is it?

He nods furiously.

" _Fear Fyr, fear Fyr_ ," his whisper echoes in my own head, and I clamp my mouth shut without realizing it'd still been open.

"Wh-why?"

"...I must elude Fyr's sensitive ears; tail behind me, follow and find me," The thing turns and retreats down the still-dark hallway. It doesn't even look like it's actually walking under that weird cloaky black robe. It's like it's gliding.

So. Creepy shadow-boy shows up and tries to lure me away, and what do I do? I don't freaking follow him, that's what.

I just stand there trying to decide whether to go back into our room and hide, or do what I was going to do and head up to the deck for some fresh air. I realize that waking Fyr wouldn't be the best idea, considering that I've done that twice already; and, this thing is probably a figment of my imagination, a remnant from my dream, or my tired brain finally snapping. It'd probably be the last straw with him, and he'd decide my cons outweigh my pros. Then I'd be left all by myself in a world I don't know, hallucinating and starving to death.

So, that makes my decision fairly easy, and I quickly and shakily make for the stairs to escape the whole situation.

But of course, the moment my foot hits the first step, that voice is back, pestering.

"Hear my warning, heed it, I plead it," it begs, and I feel a surge of annoyance. I turn and face him.

"What warning? What are you?"

He pauses like he's surprised, and he points to his own chest. "Only a spirit. No need to fear it. Fear Fyr with the ears," he points to his own ears, and puts a finger over his mouth to hint, 'be quiet!'

Then it's my turn to pause, and mine lasts a lot longer. "You're kidding?"

He says nothing and instead dissolves into a ghost of black mist, then just as quickly back into his solid form, looking up at me with those large, green eyes. I'm startled, but his appearance is honestly not as threatening as I thought it was. With everything else I've seen here, he's not all that impossible.

So, a spirit, then? Don't exactly know what that encompasses, but he hasn't hurt me, or tried to. He's just trying to get my attention. He's only as creepy as Fyr seemed initially, so who knows. Maybe these 'spirits' are actually kind of common in this place?

I take a second or two to gather my bearings. "You wanted my help, right? Are you talking about Fyr, the elf I'm with?" I can't help but be somewhat patronizing; it comes naturally when speaking to a young child. "Also," I put in, "do you have to keep rhyming like that? It's really confusing."

The boy looks at me intensely. I don't think he has blinked this entire time, and the green fire in his eyes licks at his eyelashes. "I can do my best, Warner interpret the rest."

I squint my eyes, "Better than nothing."

He nods softly. "I seek Ava's aid."

"Me? What could I do?"

"I am...trapped," he explains slowly, choosing his words carefully, as if trying extra hard not to rhyme. His voice continues to creep the fuck out of me, but I try to look past that. I stay quiet and listen to his words, which halfway seem to come out of my own head.

"Trying and failing to warn Ava Warner. Want to reveal the truth, but not with him here."

"What are you talking about? Warn me about what?"

"Her dreams are visions. Warnings. Warnings for Warner to fear Fyr."

"You mean those are _your_ fault? Gee, thanks."

"Twisted by him, not by me. Controlled by the one with the ears." He puts a finger over his lips to say, 'shh!' again. "Fear Fyr."

"How does Fyr have any control over my dreams? I don't understand." I give a look of uncertainty. "I don't know-…"

"Ava Warner is here thanks to me," he finally drops the bomb he's been holding, and I'm taken aback. I stare at him incredulously, no idea how to respond to that.

He glances down as if he's ashamed. "Fyr forced me to find Ava Warner, forced me to steal her. If she leaves here, I have no choice but to retrieve her."

"How?" I blurt. "How?! Why?"

"Spirits can travel the void between worlds. Portals. Ava understands portals."

"I…" I blink a couple times. I'm a little blown away, and also trying to decide if he's bullshitting me or not. He seems pretty serious, though. "So, you're trying to tell me that Fyr sent you, a little boy spirit, to kidnap me?"

"Ava Warner interprets well," he nods quickly.

"That...makes no sense," I shake my head. "Why would he have offered to help me if all he wants is to keep me here? Or even more important, why the hell does he want me in the first place? Or, how did he know about me at all, let alone enough to send a, um... a _you_ across worlds to bring me here?"

The spirit hesitates at the onslaught of questions, clearly rethinking his method of communication. Suddenly a sheet of paper materializes in front of me, like a small page torn from a book, floating before me. On it, words begin to appear. He taps the paper, and I realize I can read them. As I read the words, I hear a deeper, more mature voice sounding them out in my head.

 _Fear Fyr's thirst for your power, Ava Warner. He sent me out into the void with one order, and that was to find unlimited power. And I found the closest thing: you_.

"What power?" I'm bewildered. "Also, why the hell didn't you think of this paper thing in the first place?"

His eyes narrow just a hint, and he taps the paper again. The words shift.

 _Your veins possess more concentrated magic than most crystals or wells can harness, and yet you are unaffected. That is enviable. You are capable of incredible, possibly disastrous feats._

"But Fyr hates my magic."

He chuckles wryly, a corner of his lip slightly curling.

 _Yes, he has given that impression, hasn't he? I am afraid you have been deceived. You are just as much in his possession as I am._

That last sentence makes chills run up my spine. Now, I don't one hundred percent believe this thing, but at the same time, he's planted a seed of doubt in my head. A very real, very heavy and worrisome doubt. And I don't know what to do about any of this new information.

As if reading my mind, the spirit looks me square in the eyes, and then back down to the paper.

 _Which is why I need your help._

"How?"

 _Assist me in gaining my freedom. He has me tethered to this physical plane through...rules of magic. But, your magic is stronger. All I need is your willingness to learn what I have to teach you. In repayment, I will return you to your world. In fact, I believe that the two acts can be combined as one great spell._

I stand there, dumbly staring at him with thoughts whirling around so fast I feel dizzy.

"This is all extremely sketchy," I say slowly. "Maybe I should talk to him about it—"

The paper quivers insistently, as if an inanimate object could show emotion.

 _I strongly warn against it. It will undoubtedly ruin our only chances to return to our homes. You do not understand your own power enough to defeat him._

My mouth opens and closes like a fish. "I don't know what to say."

 _Say we have a deal. Say you'll not tell a soul, that you'll keep this information safe. I'm already risking much simply by speaking with you._

To my surprise, he reaches out a hand to shake with me. "Take the deal."

I stare at him. Without warning, his whole body loses its shape, and he warps into the misty black form I'd initially thought he was. I startle, but his voice is the same, if a bit more 'metallic' and hissy sounding, which keeps me from being as freaked out as I could have been.

"Quick, Fyr wakes."

Somewhat panicky, I reach out and shake the general form of his hand. It feels like I just simultaneously dunked my hand into ice water and fire at the same time, and I yelp.

In that same moment, a small handful of ship passengers round a corner ten feet away and see us there at the base of the stairs, and they all halt in their steps.

The spirit vanishes from sight, but they already saw what they saw, and the guy closest to us does not look happy. He looks terrified, actually, and the other three people stumble over one another back the way they came, while he still stands there trying to talk.

"Y-you—that—I—" he sputters, "That's forbidden!"

"What?" In my confusion, I forget that I'm standing on the bottom step of a flight of stairs, and when I turn toward him completely, I lose my footing and—unsurprisingly—trip onto the floor. The poor man lets out a terrified yelp and scurries off as I tumble to the ground.

I gripe and sit up, nursing my arms, realizing that to him, it probably looked like I jumped at him or something stupid.

My mind is racing with a hundred different things at once, and I'm relieved that my surroundings have become suddenly very quiet. I slowly gather my spilled bag of nuts off the ground and, with nothing more to do, head up for some fresh air, mulling over what just happened in bewilderment.

* * *

~.~.~.~.~

* * *

Now, let me just say that getting thrown in jail is the last thing I expected to do today.

I don't think anyone really anticipates something like that. Unless they're some kind of criminal, which I most certainly am _not_ —well, not in the way that I'm accused of, at least. According to James Reid, I am already on my way to that life.

What am I accused of? That's a damn good question.

Mister 'That's Forbidden!' guy from the hallway caused a _huge_ commotion about what he saw—or, at least, what he thinks he saw. He _thinks_ he saw me 'summoning an unshackled demon in a nautical sanctuary', which is evidently a pretty serious crime, because it got me behind bars, despite my denial. He got the ship's captain involved, and I guess my defense of, "it was just a spirit, and I totally didn't summon it," wasn't very strong, especially against four witnesses.

For a short time, they put me down in the hold, the lowest part of the ship that just so happened to have a prison cell. But, we arrived at port only about four hours after I was imprisoned, and I was transferred off the ship and into a more permanent setting.

'Permanent,' as in, they took me to the guard post inside this half-flooded place called Menethil Harbor and threw me in a damp, cramped, warded cell next to a very short, green-skinned man with gold teeth and huge ears, and a knee-height, pink-pig-tailed woman wearing goggles that hum. This world gets weirder the longer I spend here.

Fyr is livid, by the way. He thinks they're all completely crazy, and he says he doesn't believe I even saw a spirit. He thinks I was having a 'projected illusion', which is apparently a thing that sometimes mages do in their sleep? And other people can see what they're dreaming about?

I don't know. This might've been a mistake, but I didn't exactly tell Fyr everything I saw, just that the guy _thought_ he saw me talking to a demon. I fibbed that it was all fuzzy in my memory, which is probably why he thinks I was dreaming. But what else could I have said? "That spirit you've been controlling this whole time came to me for help and we're going to work together to escape," doesn't seem like it'd go over well.

I still, to be honest, am on the fence about Fyr. About the spirit. About this whole situation.

I don't know what to do. Plus, the more I think about Fyr being what the spirit says he is, the more upset I become. I can't even pinpoint exactly why it stings so badly, but it sure as hell does. The thought that he's _using_ me for whatever fucked up reason that spirit said is so unsettling that it makes my eyes water just thinking about it. I suppose that some part of me wants so badly to believe he's a good guy, because he's the one I've trusted for weeks. So maybe this is me fighting feelings of betrayal.

At least Fyr's fighting pretty damn hard against my arrest, but I guess there's even a line he can't cross when it comes to the law.

I'm pretty stressed out, I'll admit, but what can I do? Nothing. Nothing but sit here and wait to argue my case, whenever that'll be. I'm trying not to dwell on it; doing so might send me into a nervous breakdown.

I think what I'm most disappointed about in this very moment is that they didn't let me take my rubik's cube with me, and hours in, I'm bored out of my mind.

I sit at one corner of my tiny cell and toss cement pebbles at the rusted iron bars across from me. I don't know how long I've been in here, but the light coming in from outside has faded to nighttime. The green guy in the cell next to me is talking to himself, and the girl with pink hair is sleeping. She's tiny enough that the cell is actually pretty large for her; I don't know if I'd be able to stretch out fully enough to lie flat here.

Fyr and I were supposed to be off finding James by this point. He's somewhere in this city, in a tavern, waiting for us to 'catch' him. Guess that won't be happening.

I sigh, leaning my head against the hard stone wall I'm using as a backrest, and prop my elbow on a knee. I'm beginning to feel the weight of how truly trapped I am, not only in this cell but this world. My only hope at this point is that which I placed in teaming up with Mr. Spirit. It's got to work, because I am running out of options. I wish I had a way to call him and talk again. I have so many questions I need to ask. Yet, that'd seem like a stupid idea, considering why I'm imprisoned.

Footsteps draw my attention to the stairs across the jail, and my heart makes a slight jump when I recognize Fyr's long purple hair. He's accompanied by a guard in full plate armor, who stands back and just observes.

"Fyr," I stand and grasp my fingers around the bars, but subconsciously remove them as the huge elf comes to face me.

His expression is pinched. His silver eyes beam through the pale lighting. "How are you faring?"

"I'm all right. They fed me. And I have water. Bed kinda sucks though," I motion to the flat ground with a smirk.

My pathetic humor doesn't reach him. "I'm...working on it. You won't be in here much longer, one way or another."

"Thank you, Fyr."

Fyr looks back at the guard, who sorta tilts his head as if to say, "Wrap it up." He looks back at me, and he wraps one hand around an iron bar and leans in.

"Hang in there, Princess," he sends me a handsome, reassuring, out-of-place wink, and he turns and leaves, followed by the armored escort.

 _Shoot,_ I think to myself as I slump back down in my spot with my back to the wall, and start tossing pebbles again. _That's one way to confuse me further._

I've got too much time to kill, and no weapon to kill it with.

* * *

A direct finger-tap on my shoulder yanks me awake, and I inhale and make a "huh?" noise, whipping my eyes open just as a hand closes over my mouth. I make a sound of shock, but it's way too quiet and barely comes out as a whimper. It's really dark in here now, and I can't see a thing other than vague outlines.

"Quiet, Love," a purr sounds an inch from my ear, and I feel a weird shiver run down my back as well as a pang of recognition.

"Jaffmhs?" my baffled whisper is muffled through his hand, and again he shushes me.

"Quickly," the rogue whispers. He carefully lets go of my face, takes my wrist, and pulls me upright. He's hooded, but I know who he is. I recognized that voice. How'd he find me? Or, better question, how did he even know I was here? Or most of all, why did he come?

I'm bewildered as all hell at this point, but I stand up quickly and follow his lead. He could be leading me to some sort of trap for all I know; however, moving around beats sleeping upright against a stone wall.

My feet, compared to his soundless steps, sound like cinder blocks scraping on gravel or something, and I wince and tip-toe to the best of my ability. He sweeps us up the stairs, around a corner, weaving past chairs and desks and even past a room full of sleeping soldiers, before we finally exit the door of the barracks. I subdue a noise when I see two bodies on the grass in front of us, but James interrupts my shock.

"Not dead. This way," he speaks in a regular but low voice this time, so I take that as a cue I can talk the same volume.

"James, what is going on?" I prod, my pace just a little too fast for comfort. Everyone in this world walks incredibly quickly, let alone this ninja guy in black leather who seems to move like a shadow more than anything else.

"I am rescuing ye, fair maiden, isn't it obvious?" he glances at me, and in the moonlight, I catch his bold smirk.

"How?" I ask, unable to form more words than that in the moment.

"One hefty helping of improvisation, a splash of skill, and a pinch of charming-yet-deadly good looks."

We round a corner, passing through alleyways. This whole town we're in is boggy and filled with mosquitoes that I have to keep smacking off my face and neck.

"I meant how did you know I was—ah, never mind," I stop myself. Part of me starts worrying about Fyr. If he comes to visit tomorrow, all he'll find is an empty cell. I'm not really sure how he'd react to that. Maybe he'd be relieved that I'm no longer tied to him, and he can get on with his life the way he wants to.

... _Or, maybe he'll send his enslaved spirit to kidnap you again,_ remarks my inner voice.

 _Shh._

I pipe up semi-awkwardly in regards to James, "Um, what happened to 'you're going to play my game' and 'we're not friends anymore'?"

"You're enduring far worse than I had intended for you. Even my nefarious heart couldn't sit back and watch you drown." His voice oozes sarcasm, and I narrow my eyes.

"So you're _not_ mad at me?"

His hand whips up to his neck, squashing an unsuspecting insect.

 _Smack_.

"Nay."

Huh. That's good, I guess.

I have no idea where he's leading me, but we're moving quickly still, further and further away from the ocean, deeper into the town. We walk about ten seconds in silence.

"How exactly did you learn how to break people out of jail, James?"

"Oh, I was orphaned at a young age and grew up in the streets of Old Town. Fought tooth-and-nail for everything I owned. I scrounged, sneaked, and stole my way right into a thieves' guild. The guild master took me in and treated me like her own son, raised me like a prince. Everything I learned, I learned from her."

"Wow, really?" I blink.

"No, not really," he snickers. "Haven't you read _The Crown of Thieves_ before?" Then he catches himself. "—Oh, right. Of course you haven't. Outsider."

Suddenly he stops, grabs me, and pulls me hard with him until we've both flattened ourselves against a wall, just in time for a guard patrol to turn a corner and walk _right_ past us. I catch the tail end of what must be a truly riveting conversation about their commanding officer, because they're so absorbed in it that they completely don't notice either of us, despite walking just a few feet away.

It's not until they've headed all the way down the alley and turned off that James lets go of me and releases a huge breath he was holding.

"Light, I've never shrouded someone for that long," he exhales hard. "Test of my competence, right there."

"Shrouded?"

"Yes, we were essentially invisible."

I balk, but say nothing. The fewer questions I ask here, the less therapy I'll need in the long run, right? I already know he can vanish.

He picks himself up and we start walking again at that uncomfortably fast pace that my short legs have difficulty keeping.

"Back on the subject of me," he says happily, "Truth be told, I was raised under a typical privileged family name. My parents were quite wealthy, and they would pay for my inscription lessons somewhat religiously. Those soon became repetitive and unchallenging, and I would cut my tutoring, instead regularly running with the boys from the Cathedral orphanage; they taught me how to steal and scrap even though I didn't much need to. I also got into the business of forging papers around that time as well; inscription paid off, in that case."

Listening silently, I'm actually appreciating this much talking coming from him; it's helping detract from the fact that I have absolutely no idea where we are going, and it's making me less nervous as we weave through the dark city.

"From then," he continues, "I realized I was actually quite good at it, and I joined a thieves' guild when I was fifteen. I lived what you might call a 'double life' for a while, even stealing from my parents—little trivial treasures, don't worry, I'm not that sinister—for the sake of climbing ranks. Not a day after I turned twenty did I realize I was better than the guild itself, and I went solo. I broke into vaults, stole what I wanted. Forged what I wanted, especially bank receipts and passports. I made quite a name for myself. I was rolling in coin up to my ears, and ended up just doing what I did best for the excitement. The challenge, the thrill. Then, I got cocky. Then, I got caught. And you know the story from there."

I absorb his words and smirk. "Why do I feel like you're going to go all 'psych!' on me again and say that's the plot to a sequel?"

"I wouldn't want to overuse that joke," James snickers ahead of me as he leads me toward a huge archway leading out of the city entirely.

For some reason, I still don't believe that's his actual story, but I don't push.

"We're leaving town?" I question.

"What, you assumed we'd dawdle in the town in which you were incarcerated?" A pause, and a shrug. "Not the worst idea," he grins, changing course without warning and tugging me along with him into a side road, then to a doorway.

He retrieves a key (after some shuffling through his backpack) and opens the door, which creaks. Inside smells like pine sap and dust. He closes the door behind us, leaving us in pitch black, and I hear the click of the lock as he turns it. There are no windows in here, and I just stand in place, afraid of running into something if I take even so much as a step.

"You know if you wanted to murder me, this would be the prime place and time to do it," I comment.

The hiss of a match igniting throws me off-guard; it's a more familiar sound than I'm used to in this world, and I look in its direction. James has illuminated the room with a tiny flame, which he holds to a candle wick that quickly flares as well.

"I will keep that in mind," he winks at me with his dark smirk that makes the black scruff on his chin pull around his jaw and dimples. What is it with attractive men winking at me all the time? Not that I mind, of course.

Clearing my head, I look around the room, now dimly and warmly lit. It's practically like a studio apartment, with an old, quilted bed and a wash basin and a kitchen area all in one.

"What is this place?"

"Dawdle-central. Hungry?"

The thought of food makes my stomach growl loudly. I nod, "All I've had recently was Fyr's nut sack, and that didn't last long," I frown.

James's face lifts in humor, "Pardon?"

"A sack of nuts. They were medicinal or something," I smile at him innocently.

"Well, I imagine it won't be difficult to find you something more satisfying than Aerefyr's nuts," he snickers to himself and digs into his backpack at the counter as I sit down on the bed. "Though I'll admit," he murmurs, "I've heard legend of those elusive elves and their…abilities."

"We still talking about eating here, or..?" I tease.

"In a manner of speaking," he quips, and melts into silent laughter.

"Oh god," I snort. The covers sink under me and threaten to pull me in; it's all so much more comfortable than anything I've had for weeks. I yawn so widely that tears tug at my eyes.

"Here," James approaches me and sits down beside me on the bed, offering a jug of something, and some wrapped bread. "Drink, eat, nourish yourself. You're safe here, no one will find you. You can relax."

"I am relaxed," I say, but then I realize that I'm quite the opposite. Despite the comfort of the bed, my shoulders are so tight and my arms are rigid at my sides. I let out a deep breath and force my muscles to loosen, and I take the jug and the bread. "Thank you, James." My voice holds more sincerity than normal. "I mean it, really."

He just gives me a one-sided, closed-lip smile, then stands. "If you aren't bothered, I was planning on bathing."

"Why would I be bothered?"

"No privacy," he motions toward the tub on the other side of the room. He's right, there's not even so much as a curtain.

I bite my lip. I'm not so confident now that I'm not incredibly drunk, and a blush covers my face that I hope isn't too obvious. "I don't mind. I'll uh, distract myself with food."

"Perfect," he grins and, without hesitation, begins to strip off his hood, his armor, and then his clothes.

Seconds pass, and I don't move a muscle. I have bread in one hand, a jug of some unknown liquid in the other, and my eyes are glued to James, who is either oblivious to me or ignoring my staring. The way the candle light catches his skin makes my heart jump, giving me flashbacks of that first night together. Just looking at him like this heats my blood; I have no idea if he'd even be interested in "round two," but I'm feeling more intrigued at the idea by the minute.

Now just in his drawers, he leans over the tub and twists two nozzles that are attached to a thick pipe sticking out of the wall. One of them begins to glow red, and I hear a quiet, low hum. It's familiar; it reminds me of the buzz of magic I feel sometimes. Then water flows through them both and into the tub, and steam rises lazily in twisting vapors. I get it now; one is hot, one is cold. The hot is heated by a charm. That's pretty damn cool.

Then suddenly his underwear is off, and he's entirely in the nude. I look down at my lap a half-second too late with the image of his perfect everything burned in my mind. Only then do I remember that I have food, so I tear a piece of bread and chew on it.

James relaxes into the warm water and sighs serenely, and I finally peer up at him again. My eyes wander down his chest. He scrubs soap over his skin and hair, rinsing and cleaning.

Only after far too long, I realize he's watching me stare.

I look away quickly, biting an embarrassed smile. I sip the liquid from the jug; it tastes almost like sweet milk, maybe coconut? It's good. I should focus on that, for the sake of my self-control. I hear him rinsing, and then he sighs.

In my peripheral, I see him draw a lazy circle in the water with his hand, and I can't help but flick my gaze back on him.

"Room for two here, if we're creative. Interested?" he tilts his head, his black curls sticking to the moisture on his neck. The mixture of teasing and straight sex appeal in his voice unnerves me, and I grip the jug in my hands, now having finished the bread.

"Yes—I mean, no!" I blurt, finally gaining a little more control, but I feel my pulse quicken when I catch his direct gaze. He lifts his dark brows teasingly, his skin glistening in the flickering light.

"Ooh. You want me," he grins and licks his lower lip, probably automatically.

I shoot him a smirk. "Bad idea."

"I seem to recall you liking bad boys," his grin widens, "among other things."

His teeth bite into his lower lip, and I tighten my grip on the jug.

"What if I'm still mad at you for stealing that amulet?"

"Call it make-up sex," his smile widens.

I can't help but smile, but instead of speaking, I take a deep swig from the jug, set it on the table, and slip my feet out of my moccasins. James sits up a tad straighter, eyeing me as I move my hands to the strings on my pants.

I tighten the knot more securely, scoot further onto the bed, and pull the covers up to my chin, sinking into the pillow and facing away from the naked man in the tub.

His quiet laugh carries to my ears, and with a smile of my own, I ignore him and work on sleeping. If there's one thing I've learned thus far, it's that a good night's sleep cannot be taken for granted.

Even with my eyes screwed shut and my best attempts to block out all noise, my mind still whirls. But not about James, unfortunately.

I lie in silence, mulling slowly over my thoughts. I'm not in jail anymore, sure, but I'm no closer to fixing my situation. So far, the only possible means of getting home is still tied to Fyr, which means I need to find my way back to him and consequently back to the spirit child who can help me.

I can't ignore the part of me that feels like something's wrong with all of this, though. Especially with that kid, and especially with Fyr. Weirdly enough, the only candid person in my entire life right now is James, the thief who I'm sure keeps lying to me about his past.

Seeing as I can now hear James dressing himself, I turn over to face him and speak up.

"Hey, I have a question."

His black, wet curls are slicked back away from his handsome face, and he looks stunning as he peers at me from under his brows.

"Ask away," he offers as he pulls a dark silk tunic over his head.

"Can spirits travel between worlds?"

He tilts his head, as he rolls his long sleeves. "I believe that question is too broad. It entirely depends on the type of spirit, I'd guess. However, I'm not the most learned in the subject. Your elves back in Feralas could have answered such a question."

I'm substantially relieved that he believes me and is unbothered by the idea of a spirit.

"Well, that's why I was in jail. A spirit contacted me, and other people thought it was a demon."

His eyes narrow. "Why did it contact you?"

I chew my lip, hesitating. "It...said Fyr is dangerous."

James's brows tighten until a line appears between them, and he comes and sits on the bed beside me, staring at me intently. "What else did it say?"

"It claims Fyr enslaved it. And that I'm here because Fyr sent it out to kidnap me. Er, not me specifically. He just wanted a source of power, and apparently I'm exactly that."

"Fyr is nonmagical, though," James murmurs. "You can tell with people, you know?" he explains when I look at him curiously. "Some people have that magical aura; others, not so much. He doesn't have one. He doesn't use magic."

I think back to the times I've sensed magic. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

"Whatever visited you is likely not what it claims to be, malicious or not," James pats the blanket over my leg. "Regardless, now is the time for sleep, yes? We will tackle this tomorrow."

"Absolutely," I curl up warmer into the blankets as James sidles in next to me, and for the first time tonight, I realize we'll be sleeping together.

...Duh.

My heart quickens when I feel his body heat under the blanket, and I force my eyes closed, turning my back to him and focusing on relaxing my body enough to slip into slumber.

Ten seconds pass.

Thirty.

Sixty.

I still feel his presence behind me, his body not quite touching me, but I can still feel that moist, clean warmth radiating from him after his bath. I focus on my breathing, but it's only drowned out by that _heat_.

I sigh quietly and scrunch my eyes shut. Heavens, help me.

* * *

 _My goodness, it has been ages since my last update, and I apologize! Issues with computers breaking really interfered there._

 _Anyway, I'm happy to say that I am back, and I hope to get into regular updates again. Thanks everyone for being so patient._

 _This chapter featured very little of Aerefyr and was a bit of an information dump for you readers, but a very needed one for future chapters. So, buckle in._

 _Now on to the reviews._

 _1: Nymphetamine0verdose - Oh, yes she does need music. Desperately._

 _2: 89 - Aha the lighthouse. :P I do love that comparison.. lol._

 _3: TheSpicyMurloc - Thank you very much!_

 _4: Feldoran - Thanks! I do think the rambling is part of being inside her rambly head. Tis fun to get carried away.. lol._

 _5: Wispy - Thank you! In that case, you may like this chapter? Haha._

 _6: Bohmzawe - Ahh thank you so much! Your reviews are so freaking encouraging. Even if my last update was forever ago, I hope I can rekindle the excitement of this story!_

 _7: jrmf - Thank you!_

 _8: NightlyRowenTree - Thank you!_

 _9: tanalore - Thanks! And thanks for your patience! Sorry to keep ya waiting._

 _10: WhiteKatsu - Haha! Oh yes, we haven't seen the last of Ava/Fyr bickering._

 _11: Phoebe Majere - Thank you._

 _12: Sionnach Swiftpaw - Thank you so much, that's really encouraging! I appreciate it. :)_


	7. Chapter 7: Mistrust

The next morning is a blur of activity. James wakes me at the crack of dawn and dresses me in his very own signature hood to help hide my face, and we promptly set off to the stables. He flashes some papers that I am positive are forged to the stablemaster, and is promptly given a horse. An entire horse. And he didn't have to pay a thing.

This particularly large horse is saddled and reined by stablehands, and James, once he's strapped his (technically, Fyr's) bag to the saddle, effortlessly swings up into the seat, then holds his hand down to me.

"Up we go," he beckons, and I sleepily reach up, unsure of how to properly mount a horse when there is a person already on it. I've actually never ridden one before in my life, and they're a lot taller in person, so I'm horribly unprepared for when James grabs my wrist and lifts me up into the air, leaving me flailing for a stirrup.

Finally my foot catches the back of his boot, which I use as an inconvenient foothold, and he continues to hold me up well enough that I'm able to swing my other leg over the horse sloppily and finally seat myself behind him.

"Never ridden, I take it?" he chortles in front of me, hiding his grin by scratching his jaw.

I open my mouth to retort, but he flicks the reins, and the horse lurches forward, stealing my breath. I grip my hands into his shoulders, focusing on not falling.

"Where are we going?" I ask as he turns onto a path. The horse jostles more than I thought it would, each step somewhat of a jolt, and I find myself already looking forward to dismounting.

"Leaving town. Keep your eyes to the ground; we don't know who knows your face."

"What about Fyr?" I haven't had a chance to discuss anything yet with James. I have so much uncertainty regarding everything, and I have no idea what to do. Plus, James still has that amulet, which I am sure is still important even if Fyr isn't to be trusted.

"Don't worry, one step at a time. First thing's first, we've got to get out of this place; you're a wanted woman. Sound good?"

"Okay."

We reach a large gate signaling the exit of Menethil, and James hands that same set of papers he'd used to acquire the horse to a fully-armored guard who approaches us.

The guard peers at me, but I doubt he can see much under the hood. I drop my stare to the ground at his feet. He looks at the papers for a few long seconds, nods, and hands them back up.

"Be on your way," the guard steps back into place. "Safe travels to you."

James nods back and clicks the horse forward. As soon as we've gone about a hundred paces from the exit, James turns his head sideways.

"You may want to hold on a bit tighter than that," he says mischievously, and I tense my brows.

"Why?" I'm somewhat distracted by our surroundings. We're in a boggy marshland, humid and thick with morning mist. Sweat beads on my forehead, back, and chest.

"Hold on," he says again, and with no further warning, launches the horse into a full-on gallop with some hard clicks of his heels and urging with the reins.

I lose my breath, throwing my arms around his ribs and holding on for dear life as the animal tears along a dirt path. Short trees, shrubs, and marsh whip past us, and I flatten myself against James's back, face pressed sideways against his jacket.

Behind us, the stone walls of the harbor disappear into the mist.

We ride for ages. The horse alternates between trotting and galloping, doing more of the former than the latter.

It feels like it's been at least an hour before James finally slows us to a walk, and I finally relax the iron grip I've had around his ribs. My butt and legs are aching, every step of the horse giving me mild bruising pain in areas I didn't know existed. I've heard the term 'saddle sore', but I always thought it was more of an expression.

"Where are we going?" I pipe up, breaking the sound of singing insects and frogs.

"I am taking you to Ironforge, and Stormwind City from there. We couldn't take flight due to your local notoriety. So we are taking the long way." He looks to his right and points off in the distance at a snow-peaked mountain stretching into the sky over the mist. "There."

"That's incredibly far," I breathe. "How long will that take?"

"Oh, we should be at the base of the mountain by nightfall. This stallion is specially bred and trained for endurance," he speaks as if he's proud, and he pats the animal's grey, spotted neck. "We don't regularly use 'trains and automobiles' here, but we make do."

I think to myself how indeed, if I had my speedy bike, I'd be there in just a couple hours. Travel here is so _slow_.

"For now, though, our steed could use a moment to rehydrate, and we could use one to eat." He directs the horse to a broad-branched tree beside the road and stops under it, dismounting and helping me down. My legs are so stiff, I almost can't stay upright, and I groan loudly when my feet hit the ground.

"Oh god, my legs," I grunt to myself, stretching them painfully.

"You know, a proper massage would help that," James teases as he leads the horse to a shallow pool only a couple feet from the tree.

I lean against the bark, squeezing my thigh muscles, and roll my eyes. "Let me guess, you volunteer as masseuse?"

"I am skilled in it," he hums as he runs his hands along the sleek side of the large speckled horse.

I scoff. Just the mental image of anyone massaging my upper, inner thighs is weird enough for me to laugh. Let alone James.

"Kind of a weirdly specific skill to have, James," I counter.

"Oh, I have quite a number of weirdly specific skills, Love," he says, flashing me a grin.

I fight a smile. "I don't want to know."

"Sure you don't."

I sigh at him, derailing this train before it goes further, "What are we going to do about me once we reach...what'd you call it, Stormwind City?"

"We are meeting someone."

"Someone who can help?"

"Hopefully. He's helped you quite a bit thus far. Or, at least, tried."

I'm confused by this, mind running for a moment before I come to a realization. "Wait, who are we meeting, James?"

"A particularly tall lighthouse of a man." His lips tug at a smirk as he focuses his attention on the horse.

"Fyr?!"

"Aye," he says it so nonchalantly.

"How the fuck-"

"He is the one who found me and had me break you out of prison. I was surprised he was willing to break the law, considering all the bullshit he's spouted thus far..."

"You're telling me that you and Fyr _coordinated_ a crime? You and _Fyr_?!"

"I was more bewildered than you, Miss Warner," he chuckles, circling around to come stand beside me. "But, yes. I suppose he was desperate."

 _Desperate to keep you to himself_ , a voice swirls in my head. I try to ignore it, but it isn't that easy.

James catches the unease that flashes in my eyes, and leans against the tree next to me, only a foot away.

"Now what was that?" he tilts his head.

I dismiss him, annoyed that nothing seems to slip past him. "Nothing."

"I know fear when I see it, lass. I know we've had our differences, but you can trust me here. What are you afraid of?"

I flick my eyes to his. From a foot away, I can catch all the different colors in his irises: gold, brown, green, and grey all layered in a warm and vibrant explosion, hooded beneath thick, dark lashes. I stare for a second to gather my thoughts. If Fyr is indeed what the spirit said he was, I need all the help I can get. It would be a good idea to get an opinion from someone familiar with this world and its inhabitants rather than just go by my own intuition.

"I can't get the idea out of my head that Fyr is really dangerous."

A smirk tugs at James's lips. "Took you this long to figure that out?"

I give him an eyeroll. "Just for now, can you ignore your bias? What that spirit said to me, about how Fyr enslaved it and forced it to abduct me—"

"Wait, what was all that?" James cuts in, suddenly looking even more interested than before.

I wince at my blabbermouth and realize I didn't give him any of the details yet.

After a hard moment of deliberation, my eyes lock on his intensely.

"I want to tell you more, but I don't know if I can trust you."

"I really haven't done much to earn that trust yet, have I?"

"Not a ton. The jailbreak thing was nice, though. I'll give you that."

He stares back at me, and I can see his mind swirling through his hazel eyes. He thinks for another moment, then leaves my side. He retrieves the infamous backpack and opens up a small side pocket, digs in, and pulls out the crystal amulet. It shimmers in the boggy sunlight, probably the shiniest thing in this wetland.

He approaches me and reaches his hand out to me, amulet hanging from two fingers.

"All yours, Love."

I stare down at it, then glance back up at him as I reach out and accept it. "So…just like that? After all that arguing and difficulty, you'll trade it for a story?"

He shrugs. "Sure."

I narrow my eyes at him, studying his annoyingly-cheerful face, and finally give in. If I can't trust James, the man who's been most accepting of my story of anyone, who can I trust in this world?

"Alright, then. Might want to buckle in," I warn as I don the amulet over my head, hiding the crystal inside of my shirt. When it lays against my chest, I feel a strange but grounding buzz trickle through me, all the way into my fingers and toes. It feels subtle, but comforting. Like the uncontrollable is...controlled.

James retrieves dried foods for both of us and settles in as I tell him everything. The nightmares, the spirit, the warnings. The weird rhyming. All of it.

By the time I'm finished, James is sitting on the ground beside me, chin resting on one hand, expression deep in thought. I've been tracing spirals and circles in the dirt by these tree roots with a tiny stick while I talk, and now the ground looks like it's been visited by tiny extraterrestrials.

"So, yeah. You came and pulled me out of jail, and here we are." I chew some tough smoked meat, hoping it doesn't get stuck between my teeth like I've come to learn jerky has a tendency to do.

I lean back, folding my arms across my ribs, and stare out at the mist. I don't want to interrupt James's thoughts, but he also hasn't said a word this entire time.

Just as I open my mouth to interrupt the quiet, he speaks.

"I'm no expert in demons or spirits, and I certainly can say I did not expect them to be in play here. But…I doubt what you met was a demon. There's a big scare about those lately, you see," he begins in a more explanatory tone, "what with the invasions a few months ago and the ordeal offshore; everyone's on edge. People are paying demonologists to rune-ward their own homes and farmland. It's probably why you were arrested so quickly and unquestioningly. But demons are more aggressive, understand? What I know is that a demon wouldn't expend that much energy into trying to convince you of something; these days, with them being so rampant, he'd just kill you and do it himself. And that's only if he is separated from his 'hive'. Usually if there's one, there are more."

I can't fully understand what he's talking about, but I can get the gist of it. Demons are hardcore.

"This does, however, make me wonder if your portals have attracted some unwanted attention. What the woman said back in Feralas about you opening rifts with your magic, that's probably true. It is very possible that your magic is a beacon for wayward spirits. Not all spirits are benevolent; they can trick and manipulate just like people." He hesitates, shrugging his shoulders. "But, this is all considering that what the spirit said was untrue, which may itself be false."

I nod quietly.

"And," he adds, "I know hearing this from me means less, but you really should understand… Aerefyr Darkeye is a dangerous man, Ava. Truly. If in fact the spirit is telling the truth, this is a very serious situation. If I were you, I would keep my trust to a minimum. Both in Aerefyr, and in the spirit. Don't take either's side until you have palpable, damning information toward one or the other."

Frustrated, I inhale before speaking. "You people who know him say Fyr is so dangerous, but you're so damn cryptic about why, and it's not helpful or effective. If you're going to warn me against someone, please at least give me the respect of explaining why."

James chuckles and drinks from a water skin, then hands it to me. "Fair enough, Love." He wipes his mouth with his sleeve. "I've actually encountered him before. A good eight or nine years ago, now, and he doesn't know it. He doesn't know anyone was watching."

I sit forward. James's tone has darkened ever so slightly, which alerts me that this is serious.

"It was in the town of Ratchet. You don't know where that is, but just picture Theramore somewhat dustier, redder, and no big stone walls. I traveled in the company of two of my old thieves' guild members. One of them, Paola, was fleeing the law after an altercation with a royal guard that turned deadly. We'd been helping her, evading bounty hunters, and were holed in an inn, planning to stow in a ship overseas the following morning and escape to another continent. Late in the night, however, I awoke to find that Paola was no longer asleep beside us and assumed she must have gone to relieve herself. When she didn't return, I woke my other guildmate Landon and set out to find her, and find her we did. She was dead, and none other than Aerefyr stood beside her out of breath, furiously shuffling through her papers. I didn't know who he was at the time, but I could guess his occupation."

"Fyr killed her?"

"It appeared so, yes. I saw her blades on the ground and his sheathed. Like I said, he was out of breath, so they must have struggled. Landon saw red as soon as he realized what had happened, and he ran in there like a maniac. I hid back in the shadows, too stunned to do anything else, and watched Fyr pull out a blade and strike the boy down effortlessly. Until then I had never known a bounty hunter to kill anyone other than their bounties, and even that was rare. You get more for a live subject, usually. I'll admit, I was young and naive, but it still disturbed me. It may have been self defense, but the chill in that man's eyes as he killed...that was not the look of a man of empathy or remorse. There were other ways he could have defused the situation, but he chose to kill."

I myself think back to how much killing Fyr had actually performed in front of me without so much as a grimace. Sure, it was against bandits who'd just as quickly kill us, but...

"So what happened then?"

"Well, he hoisted Paola over his shoulder like a sack of grain, and left Landon there dead in the grass. That's the last I ever saw or heard of her. I suppose a lowly murderer such as her wouldn't get much post-mortem attention anyways, and he was surely pleased with his reward." His voice drips with spite.

"Is that why you don't like to kill?" I wonder, thinking back to how he has only ever incapacitated when he had a choice.

"No, no. I have my own reasons."

I nod, wondering if he'll delve into them, but he doesn't.

"So...he has no idea you saw?"

"As far as he knows, there were no living witnesses." He sighs. "I am really not one to judge when it comes to life-or-death situations, and I can't claim to know what went on before I got outside. But what I know from what he did to Landon is that he is a man to kill without hesitation, if it suits him. And due to his status and reputation with law enforcers around both major continents, he's untouchable. Anyone would take the word of a loyal, decorated bounty hunter over a thief."

I sit and think on that deeply, sipping water and frowning.

"He has a code, though, right?" I finally consider. "I mean, if he didn't, he'd be just like the people he hunts. And he doesn't do that. You yourself said that Paola was wanted for murder."

"Well of course, he isn't stupid," James winks at me. "However, he has the capacity to be extremely dangerous. You cross him the wrong way, he could kill you and make up whatever story he wants. And his credentials would enable him."

"Just because someone has the capacity to be evil doesn't mean—"

"Ava, you asked why I don't trust him, and I told you. I believe he is dangerous, plain and simple. We could debate the minutia of it all day, but it wouldn't change the overall fact that he is both prone to—and guilty of—dangerous behavior."

I don't know why I'm fighting so hard to defend him. I don't really know him, and I shouldn't feel this emotionally invested. I don't know James, either, but at least he talks to me, I guess.

"Fair enough," I give, leaving it at that.

James stands, mounts up, and helps me onto the horse wordlessly. We're both deep in our own thoughts, and we choose not to talk for now as we set off toward the mountains.

* * *

The following two days are uneventful and exhausting. The first night, we rode until we reached a small village at the base of the mountains full of dwarves with pale grey skin. We slept there for about six hours and then began our trek on foot up the mountains. James left the horse behind at the stables there; apparently it was more of a rental. We took a path that wound up the side, through tunnels and over misty ledges for nearly an entire day until we happened upon a familiar sight: the gates of Ironforge.

This time, thanks to James, we were granted entry. We stayed overnight in the same inn we'd been in when we first met, although this time around was quite different. There was no dwarven ale, and no nudity. We were so exhausted from travel that we passed out nearly the second we hit the blankets.

We barely spoke in two days, which was surprising to me, knowing James. Along the way, he seemed deep in thought most of the time, and when we did talk, it was about what was happening in the moment. Need-to-know sort of things, such as, 'Don't lean too far over that edge,' and 'Keep your voice low; orcs are known to patrol the area,' and so forth.

I've never seen an orc, but when I asked him what they are, he chuckled and gave a simple explanation: a fierce people with thick skin and excessive testosterone. I mentally made a comparison to an ex-boyfriend of mine.

As of now, though, James has taken me on what's basically a subway with no walls or safety of any kind, and by the time it stops after a few hours, my legs are so unsteady that I nearly can't walk. A number of other people have come along as well in other cars, and they all file toward an exit. James and I follow suit, with me quietly falling in line behind him. I've seen so many more unusual types of people, each one gathering his and her own healthy dose of staring from yours truly. They all have their own quirks and mannerisms; each not acting entirely human. The blue ones with tails flick them like cats while they talk, more or less depending on their tone.

We exit the tunnel, surfacing into a stone-lined street with double-storied buildings all around us. The streets are full of carts and merchants, and the smell of smoke and soot thicken the air. Voices and the sounds of metal on metal fill my ears, and it takes me a moment to realize James is trying to get my attention.

"What?"

"Grab onto my arm so I don't lose you," he says a bit louder.

I do as he says, and he quickly guides me along through rows and rows of streets, passing shops and blacksmiths, armorsmiths and the like. Sunlight pours in overhead, filtering through the smoky air in a golden haze. It's warm here, a massive difference from the snowy chill of Ironforge, and I struggle to roll up my sleeves with one free hand.

"Is this Stormwind?" I ask loudly enough to be heard.

"Aye. We've got to head across town."

I wonder to myself how big 'town' is, considering how huge it seems around me.

My question is belatedly answered when, at least an hour later, we've passed through multiple districts on different levels, over canals and through crowds, all the way into a large, open space with a spiraling tower in the center, surrounded by smaller shops and businesses. The air has cleared as we've descended through the city and is now fresh and pleasant. The district is peppered with sweet-scented, budding apple trees.

"Welcome to the mages' home," James smiles back at me. "And up ahead, the Blue Recluse. We're finally here."

The Blue Recluse, I learn shortly, is the name of another inn. One thing I have noticed about inns here is that they nearly always have massive bar sections, and they're almost always full of completely random, highly unusual types of people. Travelers, drifters, definitely not people who 'belong'.

My eyes scan the dingy, large space until they fall on a familiar face. Fyr. He saw me long before I saw him; he's walking to us, maneuvering past clumps of people. My feelings contradict themselves; I get this uncontrollable warmth at seeing his familiar face, as well as a warning flag.

Oh, this is going to be interesting indeed.

"I wasn't entirely sure you would actually escort her," Fyr addresses James. "Thank you."

This is probably the nicest thing I've ever seen Fyr say to the guy, and I balk, not even caring that my lips have parted open and I'm blatantly staring at him like he's grown horns.

"Anything to help the helpless," James smirks at my expression, and turns to Fyr. "You said we were meeting with someone?"

"Yes, I am taking her to see an archmage." Fyr doesn't elaborate further.

"When?"

"You aren't required to accompany us," Fyr tilts his head.

I feel a weird panic at the thought of James just leaving me here with Fyr and all this doubt and fear and uncertainty I have regarding him, but he interrupts my snowballing thoughts.

"No, I'll be there. I think I've earned my involvement. I'd like to see this through as much as you."

I catch a very subtle yet reassuring glance from James. He isn't leaving 'til he knows I am safe. Gratitude washes over me.

Fyr, who's been studying James's face with distrust, switches his attention to me for the first time, and immediately his liquid silver gaze drops to the thin chain underneath my collar.

"You have the amulet." He sounds surprised.

"Yes."

"Good. Has it helped?"

"Well, I haven't woken up on another continent yet."

Fyr's lips barely twitch at a smile, which I see more in his softened eyes. "Good." Then he hands me a key and a set of folded clothes, as well as my purse, which I'm relieved he's kept. "I've rented a suite up the stairs, to the right. It's the only red door. You have a room to yourself. Get settled in, and meet me down here when you are finished. We may be staying here more than a week."

Something about the way he's talking to me, although it seems genuine, also seems tense. Like he's a combination of tamer, calmer, and yet also putting on some sort of front. Maybe it's just my lack of trust getting the best of me, or maybe there's something going on here. But I don't show my unease.

"Thanks, Fyr," I smile, and as James heads to rent his own room, I scale the stairs.

My room is bigger than what we stayed in on the ship, but not by much. Still, though, it's my own space, something I've desperately needed. It has a bed, a lantern, a mirror, an actual toilet, a water basin, and a bath.

First thing I do is bathe, something I've come to seriously love and miss in my time here. A small cube of soap with a red ribbon tied to it (likely to represent that it's unused) rests on the sink, and I use that to scrub down. It doesn't take me more than ten minutes to cleanse and dry off, but it makes all the difference in my mood and my aching muscles.

The new clothes Fyr got me are almost perfectly fitting, thin, and soft. They smell fresh, and it's pure bliss as I slide the silky, black shirt over my clean olive skin.

I leave what little I own in a small clump in the corner of the room and lock the door, then descend the stairs while braiding my damp hair over my shoulder.

Fyr's exactly where he said he'd be, as is James, but they aren't really acknowledging each other's presence. Fyr is nursing a cup of what looks like green tea, and James has his water skin, and they're staring in opposite directions while sitting not three feet from each other.

Men.

I guess it's better than stabbing and poisoning. I can work with this.

They stand when they see me, and James lets out a wolf whistle for good measure. I roll my eyes, trying not to reward him with a smirk but failing.

We follow Fyr through the district, straight toward the tall spiraling tower. For a minute, I get excited, thinking we'll actually get to go inside it. It looks like a fairy castle.

But, unfortunately, Fyr stops just fifty feet from it underneath a tree clearing, in front of a silver-haired woman, and a man who looks...familiar.

"Lynne, I did not know you would be here as well," Fyr addresses the woman, who gives him a wordless nod of welcome. I glance at her, but then go right back to the guy. Robed and red-headed, I wrack my brain as to where I've seen him before. He's got silver in his hair and big beard, and long, silk robes of bright colors draping into the vivid green grass at our feet.

"Ah! Aerefyr. Glad to reunite so soon," the man reaches a hand out and shakes the elf's. Then he looks at me, and lifts his brows.

"And you! Did not expect our paths to cross again, I must say," he studies me a little harder than I would prefer. Eyes narrowing, I catch him glancing behind me as if worried, and then as soon as the concern was there, it's gone.

I open my mouth, but no words appear.

Fyr fills the silence. "Ferris performed the language charm on you that first night back in Feralas. We were lucky he was passing through."

"Oh!" I blurt. "Oh yeah! I thought you looked familiar. Thank you for that, by the way."

"From what I read in Aerefyr's letter, I am lucky the charm even worked the way it did, considering your native tongue is alien to me. Curious...makes me wonder what that might implicate..." the man trails off, looking suddenly very intrigued with his own thoughts and in another world. Then he suddenly looks back at me, and his eyes tense again like they did earlier. It's like he's seeing something no one else is seeing, and whatever it is isn't good. He turns and looks at the woman beside him, who gives him a quick nod, as if agreeing with him. Which doesn't help.

It's freaking me out, if I'm being honest, and it's all I can do to keep a straight expression and not fidget. I can't tell if he's a genius who can't keep his own thoughts contained, or insane. Maybe both. Then again, the lady just justified whatever he was thinking.

"Well, I suppose it's time to get down to it, then. Yes?" he hums, snapping back to normalcy. "First we'll test your magic to understand the extent of what we are dealing with, and then I'll discuss our next step."

I nod, unsure of what to do.

"This won't take more than a minute. Hold out your hands, please," he requests. "Palms-up."

I do.

Ferris and Lynne both set their hands on mine, and close their eyes. Ferris mutters some nonsense gibberish under his breath.

Suddenly I feel a jolt, like my magic has all come to life at once. The amulet around my neck feels cold on my skin, colder with each second of my magic intensifying, almost to the point of being uncomfortable. It glows soft pink through the black fabric of my shirt.

They both recoil their hands at the same time, like they'd just touched an electric fence, and Lynne speaks for the first time. Her voice is calm, despite what she says.

"How is that possible?" she wonders aloud.

Ferris shakes his head. "Are you sure you feel alright, lassie?"

"I'm fine, all things considered." That last part is mumbled.

Ferris sends a worried glance at Fyr, and then masks it quickly.

"Erm, Miss Warner, I would like to have a word with Aerefyr. We've completed the necessary test, and you are free to go."

"What's wrong?" I push.

"Nothing, lass. Nothing to worry about. I just...need to speak with him regarding a different matter. You and your friend may head back to where you are staying."

I glance at Fyr, and he sends me a soft nod. _It'll be fine_ , his expression hints.

Then I look at James, who has already turned and started walking back to the Blue Recluse. I'm beyond curious, and it's getting the best of me. But they're obviously waiting for us to leave, so I grudgingly turn and catch up with James.

As soon as we're out of earshot and past a large apple tree, James grabs my arm.

"Ava. Do you know your way back?"

I nod.

"Good. I'm going to circle back and eavesdrop. They won't see me." He slips a small black skeleton key into my hand. "Key to my room. Number 7, first floor. Wait for me there, and I will relay whatever I hear. Okay?"

I nod quickly, and he slips away, around the tree, and then suddenly I don't see any of him anymore.

I turn and hurry back to the inn. Within five minutes, I've found James's room and slipped in, situated myself on the corner of his bed, and now begun to wait.

As I stare at the floorboards, I feel a soft chill seep over my skin, and recognize it just in time to prepare myself for when a shadowy figure appears about two feet in front of me. It's not James; it's someone else.

I swallow a yelp and gather my bearings. The spirit boy. What is it about this kid that his presence alone gives me this undeniable uneasiness? It's like he radiates fear. My fight or flight kicked in before I even saw him, for god's sake.

Maybe it's just all in my head.

He pulls out the parchment, and then it hovers in front of me.

 _We're out of time,_ it reads in elegant but rushed script.

"What?" I sit forward.

 _What they're discussing out there... I don't know how, but Fyr knows. He knows you know what he's done. And those mages are not going to be able to help you in time. We have to act. Now. They've figured out what he is, and they're going to try to stop him, and he's going to kill them. He will kill your friend, too. And then he will come for you._

"How? What can we even do?" I start to panic. Does that explain why Fyr has been so...off since I got back?

 _You must remove that amulet, and let it channel into my spell._

I hesitate. "For what?"

 _I can free myself with your power. That will give me enough strength to open a doorway back to your world. Free me, and I will repay you by sending us both home._

My hesitation begins to break with the urgency that I can see in the boy's eyes, as well as in the wording. Is this true? Is Fyr going to kill those people? What James said about him... what if that's true too? What if he's truly dangerous, and this spirit is my only chance?

 _Ava_ , the paper scribbles out quickly. _No time! We must do this_ ** _now_** _!_

My heart has jumped into my throat, and I can hear it pounding in my ears. My hands shake. The ache I feel for home overpowers almost everything else I'm feeling, besides terror.

"O-okay," I stutter, taking the amulet off and setting it on the bed beside me, "Wh-what do I do?"

A series of words appear on the parchment that I do not understand.

 _Sound them out,_ it says beneath them.

I lick my lips and hesitate again. What if this is a mistake? I need to think rationally-

 _AVA WARNER!_ The word explodes in huge lettering, startling me even more and scattering me. _NOW. HE IS COMING._

I inhale sharply, eyes wide. _"Iks sa'vageth, xan ha'ash ve sath'hassakar,"_ I sound slowly, feeling sort of like I'm channeling Parseltongue.

My magic centralizes into my chest; not my heart, but above, more in the middle of my sternum, under my throat. It's working, and it doesn't feel bad. On the contrary, for the first time, I feel like I'm truly in control of this magic. I feel like I have power, and I'm going home.

Another phrase appears on the page, in large print, and I take a deep breath and say the words as clearly as I can.

 _"Ered'nash havik yrthog!"_

The final word explodes from my throat like a jet breaking the sound barrier. I'm thrown backward with such force that I hurl into the wall behind me.

My chest hits first, I hear a crack of my ribs, and my thoughts go dark as my head crunches against the wood.

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Hey again! This chapter is shorter than the others, but I wanted to publish it now. :) Thanks to all who've supported thus far, and thanks for being so patient!_

 _Reviews:_

 _89: Oh yes, you saw right through that, huh? ;P_

 _Bohmzawe: Thanks for the support! I'm glad you're still hooked! Yeah I'll be throwing in quite a few curveballs here as shit hits the fan, but what I can say is, don't give up on our boys just yet. ;)_

 _Rudhlomiel Luminous: No, thank you! :) I'll be chugging out as many chapters as I can over this summer, so hang tight!_


	8. Chapter 8: Flicker

_**A/N:**_

 _ **Adult content warning for this chapter, and many more to come in future chapters. It was bound to get here eventually. ;)**_

 _ **Also, the first portion will be switching the PoV from Ava to James. Hope that's not too much whiplash for anyone. I'm still keeping Ava as the only first-person PoV.**_

* * *

James

* * *

No time to lose; there's valuable information being shared, and James is missing it. He's fortunate that Ava didn't contest his request that she head back. Hardheaded as she is, he knows he certainly caught a break.

His toes make no sound as he slips through the shade of the trees until he's close enough to both hear and see the conversation taking place between the mages and the bounty hunter.

"Magic as the culprit or not," says Lynne, "Ava is haunted. I am assuming this is the same demon you have been coping with for ages, Aerefyr?"

James's fingers grip into his gloves. So it _is_ a demon after all. Why are they not treating this like an emergency, if there is a demon in direct contact with Ava? Can't they just kill it and be done?

The giant bounty hunter nods, looking more worried than James has ever seen him.

"The very same. I hadn't realized it'd fully targeted her, or I'd have acted quicker. Question now is, how do we deal with this?"

"Well, how have you dealt with it all this time? And why no exorcism?"

"Before Ava came along, I used wards in my backpack. Then that bloody rogue waltzed in and stole all of it, leaving us both exposed." Aerefyr sighs. "Exorcisms aren't necessary because it's not possessing either of us; it's not capable of that. It's really just a poltergeist. I couldn't warn Ava about it, because I know demons can hear thoughts born of fear. I've kept her in the dark for her own good. But that certainly doesn't mean it hasn't affected her. She's been having terrors nightly, and the thing actually materialized in front of her a few days back, when we were on the ship. She was seen with it, blamed, and imprisoned. Gods only know what it's been saying to her now that it hasn't been warded. I tried to plant a seed of doubt in her mind by telling her it was an illusion, mostly to keep it at bay."

"And has it worked?"

"I have no idea. She has closed off, and for good reason. I'm the last person suited to communicate anything to anyone."

Both mages, as well as James himself, all unintentionally nod in unison at this.

James leans in, realizing now that he needs to be a part of this conversation. Aerefyr is not the bad guy after all. There is a demon involved, and Ava is in danger. And James has information that they need.

"It hasn't worked," James announces, making himself visible and walking out from behind the tree.

All three people turn to look at him, Aerefyr looking particularly peeved. Oh, if there's one perk in all this, it's pissing off the man with a stick up his ass.

"Erm, welcome back to the discussion?" Ferris lifts one eyebrow.

Aerefyr looks like he's about to kick James out, but James holds up his hands, surrendering.

"Listen, I'll leave as soon as I've told you what I need to say. Ava doesn't trust you, Aerefyr, no thanks to me. She believes the demon is a spirit. It is poisoning her against you. It has her halfway convinced that you've enslaved the spirit and plan to enslave her, so that you can steal her power."

"What?! Me, controlling demons?" Aerefyr spits on the ground. "And she told _you_?"

"She did, if you'll believe it, trust me with that information. Who else could she confide in? The poor woman has been yanked across alien continents and expected to stay levelheaded and sane through it all."

Aerefyr sighs. "And I'm sure you didn't help her trust me any better."

"In my defense, I told her not to trust either of you."

Suddenly, Lynne pushes past Aerefyr and addresses James with concern.

"Hold on. Where is Ava?"

"I sent her to wait in my room."

A look of dread covers Lynne's face. "The demon could have read my thoughts when I studied Ava's magic. I sensed its presence, and it had to have picked up on that, or even read my thoughts. I'll admit I felt fear upon my discovery of demonic involvement."

"Which means whatever it's been planning, it realized it was out of time as soon as we shooed her away," Ferris finishes the thought. "Whatever it's going to do, it's going to do it now."

James and Aerefyr share a mortified glance of understanding and bolt off toward the inn. Aerefyr's giant legs give him an upper hand, and he dashes past the human, pulling ahead easily.

This elven speed turns out to be more negative than positive, because as soon as the two come into view of the Blue Recluse, a resonant _crack_ echoes through the area, hitting James like a shockwave through his chest. It knocks him backward into the soft grass, and as soon as he lifts his head, he sees the side of the inn explode outward in a mess of shattered wood and dangerous shrapnel. Fyr is too close, and he catches the worst of the blast. A thick, spiraling chunk collides with Fyr's head, and another impales his ribs, and he's flattened as well. He doesn't move.

Shouts and screams sound from all around, muffled through James's ringing ears, and he forces himself onto his unsteady feet and runs toward the explosion. An inhuman roar vibrates through the air, chilling James to the bone. It came from the inn.

"Ava!"

A crowd of people push past him, fleeing, and he's shoved back, unable to find a space through.

"AVA!"

He pushes forward harder, but the stampede is too great. He catches an armored elbow to the temple and tries to shake the disorientation out of his already unstable skull, dipping his head for half a second to gather his balance. Crimson blood drips from where he's been struck, but before he can stand, another person collides straight into him, throwing him onto the ground amidst trampling feet.

* * *

Ava

* * *

Maybe if I were wiser, I'd have gone to college and met a nice guy, settled down, worked in an office, driven an SUV...

Maybe if I were wiser, I'd have driven the damn speed limit on that highway when the skies were trying to drown me, instead of trying to achieve the speed of light.

Maybe if I were wiser, I'd have kept a cooler head and kept a shrewder mind when a freaking demon tried to manipulate me into opening a portal straight to what I'm assuming is its home world.

Maybe if I were wiser, I'd be home right now.

Unfortunately for me and those who know me, I am not that wise. I am not that levelheaded. I am not that smart.

Unfortunately for me, I've just made the biggest mistake of my life, and it's not just me who's paying for it.

I come to consciousness just long enough to see Fyr and James both lying unresponsive not too far away from me with blood streaked down their faces. We're all in some sort of infirmary with robed nurses everywhere tending to injured innocents. I start to mumble their names, but a nurse blocks my vision with his body and leans in, puts his hands on my temples, mutters something, and I drift off into nothingness.

The second time my eyes open, I'm in a very different setting. Still looks like an infirmary, but a more 'official' one. We have narrow beds with separators between them for privacy, and I'm uncomfortable with how 'alone' it makes me feel. I prop myself up with a pillow. My head pounds so hard it blurs my vision, and I scrunch my eyes shut and gasp. The pain throbs from the back of my neck, all the way up and around, and into my eyes. Over and over, like seconds on a clock.

Tick, tock. Thud, thud.

It makes me nauseous. Honestly, I could throw up right now.

I don't even notice someone has approached me until a hand rests on my shoulder. I barely react; the pain is so extreme, I can't focus on anything else.

The hand moves up to the base of my skull, and the fingers pinch into the aching muscles there and begin to massage. A cold, soothing magic seeps into the area as it does so, providing such extreme relief that I give a whimper and relax, letting my head hang forward. The healing wave washes into my shoulders, head, and skull, washing away the pain until I'm left in weightless bliss.

I don't know who's doing this, but they're my new favorite.

"Thank you," I manage to croak.

"It's what I'm here for," a feminine voice sounds as the owner of the magic hand, and I crack my eyes open and glance over. Strands of my hair have escaped my braid and hang over my eyes, but I see her. It's the woman I'd met earlier. Lynne.

"You can heal?"

"Yes."

"I thought you were a mage?"

"No, Ferris is. I study magics, but I am more attuned to holy Light than anything."

"Well...regardless, I'm pretty sure you just saved my life."

She chuckles warmly. "You are very welcome."

Suddenly, I remember James and Fyr.

"The other two, are they-?"

"They are resting. James is fully recovered. Aerefyr will take some time."

"What happened..?"

"A legion portal was summoned in the center of the Blue Recluse. A portion of the walls shattered outward and injured many, including your friends. Two were killed. Demons have been invading the area for nearly an hour now and have caused a great deal of damage, but we have enough reinforcements now that they've cleansed the city and killed the foul creatures. Word has been sent to Dalaran for help to close the portal." She pauses. "Apparently the power used to summon it was so great, they are struggling to find anyone who can help close it."

I lose my breath.

I summoned it. It's my fault. All of it is my fault. I hurt everyone. I _killed_ people. Two of them. And I don't even know their names.

I'm so fucking stupid.

I still haven't been able to inhale. I've legitimately choked on my own guilt, and I'm being strangled. My stomach tightens in a knot, and I feel the urge to gag.

Finally I'm able to lean over my bed and vomit onto the floor, and then I suck in a deep gasp, and just as quickly let out a sob.

"It's me. It's all my fault," I've finally begun to truly cry. It's intense and painful, tugging from the center of my chest, choking me, drowning me. I've never felt so horrible and stupid and guilty in my life.

Two assistants swoop in and clean the mess off the floor in a matter of seconds, and hand me a basin and a cup of water. I'm crying too hard to do anything with either, so I sit there awkwardly holding both in my lap.

"Miss Warner, you need to take a deep breath," Lynne instructs, "or I'll have to sedate you before you wake or frighten our other patients."

I sob a few more times but finally am able to suck in deeply, granting my brain some much-needed oxygen. Lynne inhales with me, and then exhales slowly, motioning for me to do the same. I exhale shakily, breath hitching with leftover sobs. Then we inhale again. And exhale. And inhale. And exhale.

Then she takes my cup of water and holds it to my lips. I pull some into my mouth and swish it through my teeth, then spit in the basin to clean my mouth. Then I take a couple sips. My eyes lift from the water, catching movement in my peripheral.

They land on James, who's standing at the foot of my bed with a bandage around his forehead. He's studying me, and I wish he wasn't. My nose and eyes are red and puffy, I'm sure, and I'm a fucking mess. Part of me is terrified of what he's thinking of me, after what I've done, and the other part of me knows I deserve every bit of it. I begin quietly crying to myself again, unable to stop it.

"Is she alright?" his voice carries softly.

Lynne nods. "Just coping."

"Ava," he calls gently, approaching me and sitting on the edge of my bed. "Everything's going to be ok."

This just worsens my guilt. He shouldn't be coddling me. No one should.

"I k-killed people," I say, the words stinging as they exit. "I got you and Fyr hurt, and so many others."

"Shhh," he whispers. "We need to keep that quiet, Love. No one else knows who has done it, and not everyone will understand why."

"Understand why? It's because I'm a gullible moron," I whisper back, forcing myself to drink more water to calm down.

"I've heard of lesser demons manipulating greater heroes, Ava. You are not the first person this has happened to. I was fooled, too, remember? If anything, I should have been the one to know it was more serious than I believed. You have no experience here, you had no chance of knowing or preparing yourself for the situation you were put in. Not only that, but demons have the power to sway the mind to their will; for all we know, further foul play could have been involved here, something you couldn't hope to control." He sighs. "But we really do need to keep this quiet, alright? I wasn't kidding when I said everyone's on edge regarding demons. It'll be a witch hunt if you're found out."

I nod slightly, looking at my lap. "Is Fyr alright?"

James glances at Lynne, "He will be."

Then he stands.

"Lynne, mind if I get her out of here? Just to get some fresh air. I need to discuss a few things with her."

Lynne nods, then puts a hand on my shoulder. "We will soon talk further about your return home and Ferris's speculations. We're going to get you home."

Tears well up in my eyes, but I blink them away, nod at her gratefully, and carefully climb out of the infirmary bed. James leads me past rows of beds and out the door, down some stone steps, and past more tall buildings. We're in a different district than the one with the mages. It's more open, and looks wealthier. Off in the distance, I see white smoke rising lazily into the evening sky. It's coming from within the city, and I wonder if it has anything to do with what I did. The pink sunset ignites the smoke in vibrant color, masking its sinister source with beauty.

James leads me to a small park-like area with trees and a small patch of grass, and sits down in the plush, soft area. I follow suit, sucking in breaths of the sweet air and trying to clear my mind of the muddy confusion I've been feeling this entire time.

"Aerefyr was aware of the demon this entire time," James says solemnly.

Before I can react in shock, he continues.

"He was aware of it, and he did everything he could think of to keep you safe from it, whilst also keeping you unaware. Demons can read fear and understand its origin. They can read your thoughts when you're afraid. So he didn't tell you about it, because he thought it'd give him enough time to fix it without you being put in real danger. He thought the only thing it was doing was giving you nightmares."

This stuns me.

"He was...protecting me?"

"I overheard all of it when I went back. Aerefyr apparently was dealing with a demon long before you came along. He had warded himself against it by carrying runes in his backpack—yes, the same one I stole," he smirks wryly. "If I hadn't stolen it, he probably could have helped you before it all came to this."

"We all have our regrets," I mutter as I run my hands along the soft, pale grass.

"And we can't let them consume us," James adds in. He reaches forward and lifts my chin with his knuckle gently, so that I make eye contact with him. "Hey."

I blink at him, self-conscious under his unwavering gaze.

"It was purely an accident. Do you understand?"

My teeth grit tightly together. Sure, I'll admit, there was a part of my brain and my panic that I know wasn't coming from me. It was like I wasn't in full control. But I don't know if that's legitimate, or if I just am in denial of the fact that _I caused the deaths of innocent people_.

"If we all gave up on ourselves every time we make an innocent mistake, there'd be none of us left. I understand the guilt, and I feel it too. It hurts. But you can only feel it so deeply before it's unhealthy. You have to be able to disconnect and accept what's happened for what it is."

I process what he's saying, and finally nod. "Okay."

"Bad shit happens sometimes. Sometimes we contribute to it in our own unintentional ways. We have to accept that."

I nod again. Holy shit, here he goes surprising me with this other side of him I had no idea existed. And here I thought I had him pegged as the annoying, selfish, occasionally hot thief. I always forget how complex people can be.

"Thanks, James."

"Anytime, Gorgeous."

His eyes capture me and for a second make me forget everything else. "Everything's going to be fine."

I smile at him, and he smiles back, wiping an old tear off my cheek with his thumb and then sitting back.

"Are you hungry?"

I shake my head. I have absolutely no appetite, even after completely voiding my stomach earlier.

He nods. "Even so, we still need to find a new place to stay."

* * *

So, everything James had in his room at the inn is gone. Completely gone. Fyr's and my things were buried in rubble, but both of our bags survived and have been found by James before scavengers could take them.

He has set me up in an inn about two blocks from the Blue Recluse. I've learned this part of the city is appropriately called the "Mage District" and houses the types one would expect to be attracted to magic.

Before leaving, the rogue had made an ill-timed joke about how I should try not to explode another building, then left me there while he went back to survey the damage and find our things, if possible.

He returned about an hour later, tossed our bags in the corner of the room, and leaned his hip against the dresser. I'd been dozing on the bed, not able to actually fall asleep yet, but now that I have someone else in the room, I feel exhaustion hitting me. Still, I don't know if I can sleep right now, really.

"So, the portal has not yet been closed, even after sitting in the center of the district for hours," James announces with a surprised twinge to his voice. "As far as I could tell, they've 'frozen' it enough that it isn't fully active, but it is still very much a massive green rift in the center of what used to be a building. Guards have cordoned off the surrounding layer of buildings as well just in case, but I got in and out pretty easily. Found your bags under a collapsed wall. Mine are gone, of course, considering where the portal was created..."

My eyes drop to the floor.

James laughs at my expression. "Don't fret over a few lost papers and forgeries. I have the ones I need." He waits a moment, then returns to the subject of the portal. "We have champions of the Broken Isles here defending; the demons will not get past them. At this point, considering everything those men and women have endured in the ongoing fight offshores, this is like a walk in the park for them."

A couple seconds pass, as if James is gathering bearings to say what he says next.

"And as for me," he murmurs, "I'm leaving."

My eyes flick up from studying my hands. "How come?" I can't say I'm surprised.

He looks like he's juggling between two different explanations, and I wonder if either are even close to the truth. "Some of my old guildmates contacted me about a...job." his eyes dart between mine, and then his shoulders relax. "You know what? I can just tell you. You already know what I do. We've been contacted about a heist, and it's big. I mean _really_ big, Love. Can't turn it down."

"That's it, then?"

Apology flickers across his features. "Aye, tonight. I'm sorry. Like I said, I really can't turn it down. But, you're in good hands. I am sure you will be well looked after, and Aerefyr is on the mend. I can't be around when he wakes up. I helped him break you out of jail, but I feel that deed only stretches so far before I have to worry about being arrested in my sleep. And now that you know he's on your side, you have nothing to worry about."

I slump back, letting my shoulders press into the wall behind me as I sit on the bed. "I'll miss your inappropriate compliments."

"I'll miss giving them," he grins. "I'll be back eventually, but...by then, hopefully you won't still be here. No offense, of course," he winks.

"No, I agree," I laugh slightly.

He places a few things into my purse, then walks across the room to me and takes my left hand, smiling at me with those mischievous eyes.

"In another life, you'd be my queen, Ava Warner," he murmurs softly, placing the key to this room in my palm, then kisses my fingers and walks out the door, shutting it behind him and leaving me in silence.

I'll admit, him leaving doesn't feel as big as it should. Maybe that's because the last however many times he walked away from me, I saw him again almost immediately. But now I get the feeling this is more permanent.

Knowing I won't be getting much sleep tonight after what happened today, I stuff the key in my pocket, grab my bag, and head back to the infirmary. It's nearly dark out, the sky no longer lit up by the colors of the sunset, and all I have for lighting is the faint grey light overhead, and an occasional blazing torch. Despite not having been here in this city for very long, i realize that it's quite easy to maneuver. The canals help, and there are signs everywhere, not to mention I did my best to memorize directions when heading back with James earlier.

I wander more than I'd like to admit, avoiding dark roads and people in dark garb standing in doorways, but before long, I find what I'm looking for and head inside. Lit by candles, nurses still bustle about tending to sick and wounded, and I seek out Fyr's bed. It takes me a minute, but I finally see a blanketed outline of a giant elf under white sheets, much larger than the humans around.

He's still asleep, and I grab the attention of a nearby nurse.

"How is he?" I nod toward the elf. "What all is wrong with him?"

The woman speaks quickly. "We have him induced with a healing tonic. He took about fifty shrapnel splinters to the front of his body, and one large one to the chest. He also suffered a head injury and is under close monitoring for brain damage."

"Brain damage?!"

"Minor, don't worry," she shrugs. "He is going to be perfectly fine; most of the reason we kept him under was to manage the pain of the shrapnel. He will be free to go tomorrow once he passes our examinations."

"Thank you," I call out, because she's already started walking away, obviously busy.

Then I look down at Fyr. His face is peaceful, like the last time he was knocked out by poison. He's got cuts on his cheeks, neck, shoulders, and what I can see of his chest. They're like tiny little whip marks, peppering his taut, lavender skin. It makes me feel awful, because it's my fault.

Feeling very small, I sit on the floor with my back to the wall beside his bed, and wrap my arms around my bent legs, resting my chin on my knees.

Time ticks by slowly, and I dip further and further into thought, letting my eyelids become heavier.

"...Ava?"

I have to squint against the jarring light around me. Apparently it's morning, and my whole body feels like it's been filled with cement. I don't think I moved for at least six hours.

Searching for who said my name, my eyes land on Fyr, who's sitting upright, tying his boots. He's looking at me curiously.

"How long have you been there?"

It's weird now, hearing his voice and not being wary of it. Extreme guilt threatens to suck me under, just thinking about how easily I was swayed against him. How easily I distrusted him, after everything he's done for me. With difficulty, I meet his silver eyes. Now that I know I was in the wrong, it's like I'm seeing him for the first time all over again. I'd turned him into something dark in my head, but here he is, in all his normal glory. He's just Fyr, a regular guy. He's not an evil, spirit-controlling monster alien.

I'm glad he can't read the turmoil in my mind, and I'm glad he has no idea the things I was starting to think of him this last week.

"H-hi," I croak, groaning as I straighten out my legs and back. I don't want to stand yet. "Um, it's been...all night, I guess."

"Why did you sleep on a floor..?" he mutters, shaking his head and turning his attention back to his shoes.

"It wasn't on purpose..."

"Where's your criminal boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend, and he left."

Fyr lifts a slender brow, hesitating with his laces. "Entirely?"

"Yep. Went off with his guild last night."

"...He left you _alone?"_

I hesitate. I expected him to be mad about the guy leaving, not the guy leaving _me_ particularly.

"Well, I have a room in another inn. He got our stuff out of the rubble for me, including your backpack. Now you'll have your runes back! Though, I don't think they'll be all that necessary now..."

"But he still left you on your own, in the middle of an unfamiliar city, at night, with nobody? Not to mention it wasn't even five hours after you endured a legion assault."

Fyr sounds like he's getting legitimately pissed.

"Why do you care?" I give a hesitant laugh, slowly standing upright and stretching my stiff muscles. "I found my way back here, didn't I?" My voice is more of a grunt when I stretch.

"That's not the point," he grumbles, tying the laces a little too harshly and then standing up. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel like I should be asking you that." His clothes are bloodstained and tattered; he really doesn't look great.

"Bloody fantastic." He has a glint in his eye that shows he's truly angry about James leaving. But it's a different kind of anger than what I'm used to seeing, different from when I broke his teapot, different from his feud with James. Those were irritation. This is something else.

Then he turns his gaze onto me directly, and I wilt under it, despite knowing he's not angry with me.

"You and I need to have a chat," he hums, stepping aside for me to walk past him so we can leave together.

I do this, and we exit the infirmary. Fyr drops a sizeable donation of three gold coins from his pocket into the box as we leave.

"So..." he says the second we're out of earshot, "Due to your mention of my anti-demon wards, I'm assuming James has informed you of whatever he overheard during my conversation with Ferris and Lynne. First and foremost, I need to apologize to you for shutting you out. I thought it was the safest thing to do, considering you weren't in control of your magic. Turns out, I did more harm than good there."

I shake my head, struggling to keep up with his stride, "No, it's my fault, Fyr-"

"-Yours, mine, James's, doesn't matter. That's not what I care about here. What I care about is that I ultimately put you in danger and should have understood this. And I did not consider it. And I am sorry."

"You couldn't have known it'd all turn out like this."

"I knew I've had a demon following me for quite some time now, and I should have known that it'd be interested in someone as powerful and gullible as you. No offense."

I keep hearing that phrase today, "no offense!" As if I ought to be offended by the truth, or...?

"Sure, I'm gullible and clueless here, but that doesn't excuse me panicking and overreacting either. I am sorry, too. I hurt you and tons of others, and..." I hesitate at the following word, almost choking on it, _"killed_ people, because I was being stupid. And I'm going to have to carry that."

A couple quiet seconds drag past.

"The demon is no longer haunting us, and I count that as a silver lining," Fyr hums, slowing his pace a little once he notices how much I'm struggling to keep up with him. I definitely hadn't missed that part of traveling with the giant.

"Yeah," I change the subject, "why was he doing that? And why was he rhyming?"

Fyr glances back at me. "Rhyming?"

"He appeared in front of me as a little boy and spoke in weird, fragmented rhymes, and it confused the fuck out of me. I couldn't tell if he was saying your name or the actual word, 'fear', and it seemed more trouble than it was worth."

The tall man freezes for a second, then bursts into unexpected laughter.

"That slimy bastard was rhyming at you?!"

I just raise my eyebrows at him, waiting for an explanation and trying not to let his laugh infect me. It's a rare laugh, deep and resonant, the type you feel in the center of your chest.

"Oh, that is pure gold..." Fyr trails off. "He must have found a way past a silencing curse I managed to cast on him years ago. It wasn't complete, because I'd never used that type of spell, but...ha! It must have tampered with his communication. I was aware he could still communicate in other ways, but I didn't have to worry about him messing with my dreams anymore..."

I make a mental reminder that Fyr has a strange sense of humor, and then realize something else.

"Wait, you used to use magic?"

"I thought that was evident."

"James said you don't use magic."

"I do not, currently. I did at one time, though."

"So you found a way to get rid of it?"

"My magic is dormant. I've barely touched it in decades, ever since I muzzled the demon, and it's gotten...rusty, since."

"...Oh." Then I tilt my head. "Decades? How long has that demon been following you? And why?"

Fyr lets out a delayed sigh. "That is... a long story."

"I'd like to hear it, if that's an offer."

The tall man nods. "Very well. But I need water, first."

I enthusiastically lead him back to my room at the inn and settle us both in, giving him one of the water skins James left behind. It's kind of backward, like this is the first time I've helped _him_ , and it's nice. I feel mildly useful, rather than a nuisance.

He thanks me for the water and drinks his fill, and I flop down onto the bed, letting my aching back stretch out flat into the softness and waiting patiently for him to begin his 'long story'.

"When I was very young, still considered an adolescent with my people, I was quite skilled in the Arcane arts," Fyr begins, sinking himself down into the other side of the large bed. I can still see his face upside-down from where I'm lying, and I watch him.

"Young enough to look like a little kid?" I wonder aloud, curious if this was going in the same direction as the vivid dreams I was given for so long.

"Not particularly; think more like...a young adult. Like a...what age is it with you humans? Eighteen? Like an eighteen-year-old."

I picture eighteen-year-old Fyr, and it makes me smile for some stupid reason.

He continues, "Like I said, I was good at magic. And I was a young man with a lot of confidence, yet very little experience." Then he pauses, like he's changing course. "Near our settlement in Feralas was a small town, where pilgrims and pioneers from the Eastern Kingdoms had just begun to venture out and expand. One particular human couple, I'd known for three decades. I believe you know their names."

"Gertrude and Halvard," I recite the names from my dreams.

"Yes. They were very...doting. They adored us young elves who'd come visit the town. They said I reminded them of their son, despite the fact that I was more than twice their age. And I'll admit, I took quite a liking to them as well. We would share stories, hunt together, break bread together...I became quite fond. I'd bring them gifts from my village, and they would tell stories of their old home and the places they'd been."

The way Fyr talks about them, it's so full of melancholy, it makes my heart tug. He genuinely loved these people, or at least, that's what it feels like on my end.

"But I also had my duties at home. I had magical studies; I came from a line of Arcanists with a lust for power and knowledge. The more inclined your family and offspring were toward magical abilities, the higher your social status in my community. And there were two families at the top: mine, and Iyara's. You met her in Feralas; she intervened with the bandits, remember?"

I nod. I remember that the tension between Iyara and Fyr was _real_ as hell. "Yeah, I remember her. She was pretty salty about you having left a long time ago, as far as I could gather."

"Well, I didn't just leave, I abandoned her, our marital engagement, and my family."

I stare at him. "You were...engaged to her? And you left? What the fuck, dude?"

"It was arranged," he gives a chuckle at my sudden defense of a woman I don't know. "It had been arranged since we were born. As we got older, she continually clung to the idea while I shied away. And when she started demanding we get around to procreating, well, that was too much. Sure, she herself was quite attractive to a younger me, and I'll admit our physical chemistry was strong, but that was about the extent of it. I did give in to her once or twice, if you catch my meaning, but I did everything in my power to ensure that it wouldn't result in offspring, and she resented me for not giving her what she wanted. She was unbearable and high-nosed like the lot of them, and she actually believed in the 'selective breeding' bullshit they tried to force down our throats. She assumed that due to my magical acuity, I would make a perfect 'stud'."

Still staring at him, but now for a different reason, my mouth has dropped open slightly. "These people were for real? I mean...that's borderline cult-like. Not to mention just...weird. And fucked up."

He begins chuckling at my bluntness and nods. "Yep, can't argue there. At the time, the only voice of reason came from my 'human godparents'. I'd go speak to them when I became overwhelmed with my home situation."

"So they're what kept you from giving in and living the life everyone expected from you?"

"They're what helped me escape it, yes. But not really in the way you think."

I watch him expectantly.

"I met a demon," he sighs. "And I knew it was a demon, and I still, at that point, was desperate enough and confident enough to think I could use it as an escape."

He sees my questioning expression, and before I even have to ask how that would work, he clears his throat to clarify.

"I wanted to fake my own death, so that I wouldn't be followed or retrieved. I wanted to set a demon loose in the middle of town and have it go on a rampage, including burning down my home, with a corpse already inside. Demons weren't that rare at the time, especially near a place so concentrated with magic."

"...A corpse?"

"I exhumed one from a graveyard outside of the humans' town. Stupid idea, considering that in itself is a great way to become haunted, and the skeleton was a bit too small, but like I said, I was desperate and young and stupid."

This story is getting weirder and weirder by the second, but I'm so engrossed in it by now that I don't realize I've scooted up to where I'm sitting two feet from him, studying his face while he tells his tale.

"So," I say slowly, "you dug up a dead person and put it in your house at the behest of a demon who found you out of nowhere..?"

"It was attracted to the magic of the place, and then was attracted to my unhappiness. It contacted me when I was at my worst point and when I felt the most trapped."

That sounds familiar. The parallels are uncanny here.

"Was it the same demon that fooled me?"

"The very same, indeed."

I blink a couple times. "So...your plan didn't work?"

"I trusted a demon. Of course it didn't work," he sighs. "As soon as I performed the necessary spell to give it the power it needed to destroy what I wanted it to, it turned on me - like demons do, because they're pure evil. It targeted what I cared about most and destroyed it instead."

"The human couple," I complete the thought.

"Like a knife through butter, and I was powerless at the time; my magic had been tapped. And then it moved on to my home and burned everything inside it, except for one item I managed to save: that backpack over there on the floor," he motions to his frayed, old burlap pack. "It was a gift from Halvard. It's all I have left of both of them."

I sit there in silence, feeling the weight of it all sitting on both of us. I glance at Fyr. His expression shows that this might be the first time he's ever relayed the story to anyone, and it's affecting him harder than he expected it to.

"So you didn't just want it back because it had warding runes in it," I say quietly. "It really was sentimental."

"I...I do have wards, but they are useless," he finally confesses. "I said that because the demonic warding runes are actually inked on my skin as a permanent block against the creature. Writing or uttering demonic is severely restricted, let alone tattooing it to your skin. But it worked."

"Isn't there some way to banish a demon? I feel like I heard James mention that they can be gotten rid of."

"There is," he chews on his inner lip like he doesn't want to admit something. It's like this whole conversation is just him hesitantly confessing one thing after another.

"I came to learn that having a demon attached to me made people get out of my way. They didn't even know why they were doing it, but they felt fear when I was around. They gave me space, and I...enjoyed it. Especially in the line of work I ended up taking. Mercenary and bounty hunter both benefit with a fear factor."

I think on that for a moment. "It was your own personal person repellent."

He nods, not saying anything.

"So, what happened after everything went down with the demon? What did your family do?"

"I was emotionally and mentally drained enough at that point, I simply went to my family and flat-out told them I was disowning the entire community. They tried to stop me, and they failed. And I left. It was a harsh rift, and it took nearly a century before they stopped sending people after me."

It's still so strange for me to hear him use words like 'century' and 'decades' as if they're as simple as weeks and months.

A few long, loaded seconds tick past, and I inhale softly.

"So..." I hesitate, unsure if I should continue, but I finally do. "Am I the first person you've shared this with?"

He turns his head to look at me, his attractive, angled silver eyes studying mine. _He's always beautiful_ , I can't help but exhale. Maybe it's because the demon is gone, or maybe it's because he's just shared this extremely intimate, complex story about his life with me, but I feel like he's warmer and even more attractive than before.

"Yes, you are."

I blink. "Thank you for trusting me."

"Thank you for listening," he gives a partial smile. "It's admittedly nice to lay it all out in order for once. It's like I needed that as a form of closure."

"I mean, it certainly doesn't hurt that the demon that killed them is finally gone."

He smirks. "Also true."

He sits there, studying my face and letting his eyes flick between mine. He has this curious look on his face that I've never seen. It's definitely positive, but I have no idea how to describe it other than sort of like admiration, but not quite.

"You have adjusted to this world surprisingly well, for someone so unaccustomed," he finally breaks the silence. "I...will admit, as soon as I realized you were an outsider, I felt some remorse for how I treated you."

I grin. "Is that an apology?"

"That is a..." he sits up straighter, looking all ceremonious, "It is forgiveness for breaking my teapot."

Laughing, I think back. He really did change the way he acted around me, right about the same time as he found out I wasn't from Azeroth. He became less harsh, and weirdly more detached. Maybe because he understands that I'm not permanent; I'm going home. Maybe that's why he told me about his past, too. I won't be here long, anyway.

"Fyr, I think all things considered, you've treated me incredibly well for someone you're not responsible for."

"Well, I'm a little responsible for you," he laughs.

I pause. "Why's that?"

He pauses as well. "I... don't know."

"Shit," I giggle, "I've given you an excuse to bolt, too."

His eyes flick to my grin, and he mirrors it with one of his own.

"Yeah, you've done it now," he chuckles and stands, walks to his backpack, and without warning me, loses his shirt.

I freeze there on the bed, eyes glued to his gigantic lean frame shirking his tattered clothing.

Finally I find my voice.

"Whaaatcha doing?"

He turns back to look at me, catches the way I stare at his scar-laden body, and laughs through his nose. "I'm covered in blood still, and my clothes are ruined."

Calmly, he heads over to the washtub in the corner and begins filling it with steaming water, and retrieves a small rag. He dips it in the water and gently begins to scrub off the dried blood and leftover scabs from the wood shrapnel he'd been hit with yesterday. I watch him struggle (but try to hide it) to reach the backs of his arms and shoulders, and without thinking about it, I get up and walk over to him, and take the rag from his hand.

He hesitates and glances at me, releasing it, watching my next moves.

I dip it in the water, squeezing out the reddish tinge, and walk beside him, standing on my tiptoes and very carefully soothing the soft, hot cloth over the cuts and bruises on his large left arm. I don't notice him watching me as I dive into the work, washing away the evidence of my great mistake.

Then I move to his ribs and chest, trying to ignore the way it makes my cheeks flush pink and my heart rate quicken as I run my hand along his firm, smooth, occasionally tattooed flesh. I run the steaming washcloth from his sternum to just under his navel, letting the hot vapor seep into what are probably very sore muscles.

He exhales through his mouth, the sound nearly silent but deeply attractive, and it makes heat build inside me. That wasn't like any sigh I've heard from him before. If I wasn't mistaken, it was more of a pant.

This is as much a gentle massage as it is a bathing. And the fact that he's not complaining or making to stop me is giving me the courage to keep going.

I note that his breathing has quickened, and as I glide the cloth from his right pectoral all the way down the sensitive skin of his ribs to his hip, I notice something that makes my heart thrum and my cheeks blush even redder.

There is a very noticeable tent in this elf's pants.

I swallow, take in a steadying breath, and wipe the hot cloth back up his side, under his right arm, over his ribs. My mind is in all sorts of places right now, most of them embarrassingly filthy, and I'm just struggling to stay focused on cleaning him up. He's still bruised enough that it probably wasn't pleasant to twist the way he was having to, and I'm helping him. That's...all this is. Right?

Right! Totally!

And I'm sure the bulge down there agrees with me!

 _Focus, you drooling idiot._

I rinse the cloth and finish up his right arm, then clear my throat.

"Um, I'll need you to sit on the bed so I can reach your neck and stuff."

He backs up three easy steps with his giant stride and sinks down into the mattress, now at an even height with me despite sitting. I do my absolute best not to look down below his belt for his sake only, and on accident I meet his expression.

He's smirking at me, his full lips pulling sideways as he watches me. Smirking. Like he's calm and collected, and _I'm_ the only one driving myself crazy here.

I return a smile that I hope he reads as, _Sure, and that massive boner you're sporting is nothing._

With a fresh dip in the water, I slightly more forcefully run the rag over his shoulders and neck, getting locks of his long hair wet and causing it to stick to his skin. This just makes it look like he's kind of sweaty or dewy, and I feel myself falling further into ruin.

Good. Fucking. Lord.

He inhales through his nose and very obviously lets it out through his mouth, like he too is feeling the ridiculous tension here which I initially believed was nothing more than a one-sided flicker. I mean, I'd gotten the feeling that an elf wouldn't be attracted to a human anyways.

When I'm finally finished with everything above his belt line, I quickly go to the wash basin and lean over it, rinsing out the cloth and letting the water drain.

Fyr's rich voice sounds from where he's still sitting on the bed, and it startles me. It's been so silent in here for nearly five minutes.

"Woman, I swear you're a demon yourself."

My lips tug into a grin, which I quickly rein in as best as I can and turn around. I direct my slight smile toward him, catching his eyes in a way that causes my cheeks to turn pink again. The shirtless giant has this unmistakable glint of hunger in his eyes that makes my heart pound in my chest. The heat in this room is unbearable. It's gone from zero to one hundred in about five minutes, with no warning. All because I innocently wanted to...wash...him.

Alright, fair enough. Bathing someone isn't an innocent act, and some part of me knew what she was doing. It was almost like a test, to see if the sexual tension I felt all this time with him was reciprocated or not.

A shockingly successful test.

"Demon?" I finally find my voice to respond to his joke, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mmhm," he shakes his head, standing and heading to the washbasin and taking the rag. "Bloody succubus," he murmurs under his breath, letting his pants drop without any better warning than when his shirt did. Now just wearing briefs, he starts to clean his legs as well, turned away from me but very intentionally letting me see way too much of him.

I'm standing there with my lips parted, unable to tear my eyes away. In just this month of being here, I've become so used to his inhuman appearance - not only used to it, but unbearably attracted to every part of him. And now that I have no excuse not to like him, I'm sitting here feeling every level of attraction hit me in waves that I've been denying for so long.

He's the one, not James, who every time stuck around and endured through it all to help me. He's the one who opened up to me. He's the one who has, since the moment we met, taken me under his wing (although there was some hefty complaining there too). James had his moments, sure, but they were all moments that only happened because it was convenient for _him_ for them to happen at all.

The only convenient thing about my presence for Fyr is the fact that his demon is gone, and he didn't even anticipate that in the first place.

I've been staring at him all this time, and he knows it. He straightens up once he's finished, adjusts his briefs (as by now he's managed to subdue the monster in his trousers), and walks across the room in front of me to get new clothes from his backpack. He reminds me of a cat when it wants to be petted, the way he flaunts himself just out of reach from me but makes it look inviting enough that I _want_ to pet him. Manipulative devil.

He dons fresh, well-fitting pants that fit snugly into his leather boots, a leather belt, and a crisp grey shirt with sleeves that run just past his elbows. Then he sweeps his hair back and ties it in a thick tail, and I finally begin to gain some control over my motor functions.

I try to regain my voice as well, but it still crackles when I first speak, "I could use a serious drink right now...or a cold shower." That last part is grumbled.

Fyr arches a brow. "Oh, really? I'm aware of what happened last time you and a man got fully plastered, Princess."

I can't help my blush. He's referring to me and James the night we met.

He pretends to think on it for a second, and then to my surprise, he shrugs.

"First round is on me."

I can tell he's just joking, but I melt into weird giggles, pointing between us. "Fyr what the hell is going on here?"

"I believe it's called flirting," he retorts, scooping his bag over his shoulder and opening the door for me.

"...Why did we just now start?" I mumble to myself playfully as I walk out of the room and hand him the key as I do so.

He locks the door and answers me; I always forget about his hearing. "Probably because we're no longer so grumpy. No demon, remember?"

I wait for him to head down the stairs first, and follow after.

"You know, that actually makes a lot of sense," I decide to continue the conversation, "I mean, I was weirdly attracted to you from the second I saw you, but I tried not to say anything because I always felt put-off and negative. And now, I don't."

"'Weirdly' attracted?" He snorts. "Should I be offended, or..?"

"Very," I say sarcastically. "You know I've never seen an elf in my life before we met, so, lucky you."

"Noted..."

I'm surprised to find that this inn is not also a tavern; every single one I'd been in up until this one had a bar section. Fyr and I walk down the canals at a more leisurely pace than his normal one, which I appreciate. I know he's slowed for my sake.

Despite the fact that we walk in silence, it's not the same kind that I'm used to with him. Last time he was all surly; right now, I'm wrapped up in the sights of the city, and he has a pep in his step that's new to me. I'm more content in this moment, just plain walking without talking, than I've been in a month. A big part of me is still hurting and feeling the full guilt and weight of what I've done, but I'm able to carry it easier now, because I'm comfortable.

I know that I'm going to need to give more explanation to Fyr. Whatever he did get isn't all of it, and I'm sure he's very curious to hear what I've been experiencing these past weeks. Maybe I'll get the courage and energy to talk to him about all of that this evening. I mean, he did open up to me; it's only fair I do the same.

We round a corner, and I'm surprised to see a familiar face. It's rare, considering I know fewer than ten faces on this whole planet.

The mage Ferris Conley is at the end of the arch we've just turned under, and he perks when he sees us.

"Ah! There you are!" He's talking to me, not Fyr. "Where are you two going?"

"For a drink, I reckon," Fyr hums.

"Ah, well, that'll have to wait. I need Miss Warner to come with me. Aerefyr, it is recommended you come also."

I take one hesitant step to go with him, and pause.

"Why? Were are we going?"

"Dalaran City, my dear! Your actions yesterday have gained the attention of the Archmage Khadgar himself!"

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Mostly dialogue here. Lots more to be explained in upcoming chapters, hold tight!_

 _Review response:_

 _Hahahagone: Thanks for all the reviews! I'm so glad you're enjoying as much as you are. The encouragement was a delight, and I have much more planned. :D_


	9. Chapter 9: Hunt

This city is nothing like Stormwind.

It's nothing like any city I could have imagined. I have no base of comparison for it, not even things I've seen in fantastical movies and paintings. The closest thing I could compare it to would be something out of Disney.

It's tiny, maybe the size of one district of Stormwind. The roads, buildings, and sculptures are all formed of beautiful rose-tinted marble and cream stone. It's cleaner, sunnier, and colder. I wonder how high up on a mountain we must be for the weather to be the way it is; I'd like to explore to the outer edges and maybe see over the walls, but we haven't had time. The wind here gusts and whistles through tall, spiraling towers unending, and half the time I've been here, we've been surrounded by cool mist and fog that blankets the roads.

That's not to say I've been here very long, however.

We first arrived through a portal set up by vibrantly-dressed mages on the opposite end of Stormwind from the Mage Quarter, which I thought was a bit odd. After Ferris led us to a giant tower in one corner of the city, he took us inside to a colorfully-curtained, comfortable, low-lit room and asked us to wait there.

Fyr and I have now been waiting in this room for what feels like ages at this point, and all our belongings are sitting in a pile next to one of the sofas. Ferris recommended we bring everything in case we ended up needing to stay in the city, so literally everything I own in this world is with me. It's not much, of course, but it's different when you have nothing.

Whoever this Khadgar is, he must be particularly busy to issue a summons for someone, and then make them sit and wait.

He has provided refreshments, though, and I'm delighted to notice small, sweet pastries and wines sitting on a small, round glass table in the corner of the room. I take a chocolate treat and nibble at it while observing the intricate designs and lavish, ornate detail in the decor of the room. Even the seats are cushioned armchairs with velvety, royal purple upholstery and rich gold. The lanterns are magical and levitate, slowly floating around the room and providing an even, soft glow.

The chocolate flavor swirls in my mouth and distracts me, and I close my eyes for a moment to relish it. I haven't had chocolate in so long, I'd nearly forgotten the taste.

I peer back up at the floating lights, gazing with interest.

"This is the city of mages," Fyr explains to me, watching the way I stare at the lanterns, "Of all the places for someone like you to find help, this would definitely be your number one. It didn't occur to me, because any mage worth his or her title costs a fortune simply to consult; Ferris, being an outlier. I just didn't expect you to ever be fortunate enough to gain the envied attention of Khadgar himself. Though," he pauses and says more quietly, "who's to say it's positive or negative attention..."

"Who is he, anyway?"

"Arguably the most powerful, respected, and accomplished mage alive." His rich voice is casual.

"Oh, is that all?" my eyes widen. "Considering why he summoned me, should I be worried?"

"I don't know," Fyr visibly fidgets. "I'm sorry, I wish I knew more."

"S'okay," I sink further into my seat. "Nothing you could do either way anyway. But, thanks for being here."

As he nods, Fyr takes a pastry for himself, and it looks bite-sized between his giant fingers. He pops it in his mouth, chews, and smiles. "Really can't find delicacies like these anywhere other than with the magi."

I can tell he is trying to distract me, and I appreciate the effort.

I smile slightly and sip the rose wine. It has a distinct flavor of berries. This is only my first glass, but I'll admit it is helping me relax. I don't want to be that person that drinks every time anything important happens, but it was the only beverage offered in the entire room. Fresh water is rarer than alcohol here.

 _Yeah, good idea, Ava. Get tipsy before the biggest, baddest magician in the world comes to punish you for exploding a building. What could go wrong?_

I really am feeling a whole lot warmer and looser, though. Loose enough to start complaining by the time it's reached at least two hours of us waiting, and I have to pee after having drank as much as I did, now that one glass has turned to three.

"You know," I start up. Fyr has been sitting across the room reading an old book he found on the table, but he looks up at me.

"We could be off in a tavern recovering from the horrible day we had yesterday, but no—oo. Here we are, cooped up in a tiny room like children at a principal's office. I don't know about you, but I'd rather be back in the comfort of an inn, nursing a proper drink until what's-his-face decides to finally show up and not make us sit here, beer-less, bored to death, and without bathrooms."

Fyr looks like he's trying not to burst into laughter, but my train of thought is interrupted when from the veiled doorway behind us travels a loud, charismatic, and intentionally over-dramatic announcement.

"Such mistreatment indeed! This despicable injustice must be righted immediately."

I quickly twist in my seat, stunned, staring as a handsome silver-haired man dressed in silky, iridescent robes swirls his hands around and conjures in one of them an ice-cold glass of what appears to be…beer. He hands it to me, and I can't even say so much as a 'thank you' as I reach out and take it without thinking.

"Archmage Khadgar," Fyr, after sending me a teasing smirk, greets the man who just beered me.

At least Fyr has the decency to greet, stand up and shake the man's hand—as well as that of a tall, frosty-robed, white-haired night elf with a huge beard who entered slightly behind Khadgar. I, on the other hand, just sit there with a magical beer in my hands, feeling exceptionally embarrassed.

The night elf beside Khadgar notes the wine on the table and looks at Khadgar accusingly, "You've been serving my Nightrose wine to guests again, haven't you?"

"Only the best for visitors who have traveled from so far," Khadgar reaches out and takes my hand to shake it, but I force myself to put down the beer and stand up first. Then, I shake his hand.

"H-hello, sir," I choke. "Sorry about what I was saying, I think I let the wine go to my head..."

"On the contrary! In vino veritas; that's a saying from your world, yes? I find Latin particularly charming."

I blink. "You know my world?"

"I know _of_ Earth. You didn't think you were the first to cross the dimension between yours and ours?"

"I…can't say I had any idea either way." I glance up at Fyr, who looks just as surprised as I do. That makes me feel a lot better. "Does that mean you know how to get me home?"

"I just might, with proper study. No one else who has traveled the distance from Earth has ever wanted to return, so we've never attempted anything of the sort. However," Khadgar stands straighter, "your origin is not the most pressing issue at hand here, is it?"

He's right.

I frown, "Not when there's a frozen demon portal back in the Mage Quarter."

The white-haired elf behind him folds his arms approvingly but doesn't say anything, just waits for Khadgar. Khadgar brightens when I mention the portal.

"Correct. You caused quite a storm in Stormwind, Miss Warner. Ferris told me you're the accidental source of the portal."

I nod. I'm comforted he acknowledges it's accidental. Maybe this means I'm not going to be thrown in jail again; I feel like this time I won't have a James to break me out.

"Would you please relay to me exactly what happened and when?" the salt-sprinkle-haired man requests. His voice isn't demanding at all, just thoughtful.

I take a deep breath, glancing at Fyr for reassurance, and also with a little nervousness. He hasn't heard this either, so it'll be new for all of them. And I can't be sure how they'll react to realizing it literally came down to me just being flighty and untrusting and panicky.

But, for the first time going all the way through, I explain everything that happened with the demon, from the very first nightmare until the opening of the portal. I include how confused and lost and scared I felt, what feelings influenced me, and my lack of trust towards Fyr. I include the way people told me not to trust him, the way I always felt sort of on my guard when traveling with him… I leave nothing out, except for the fact that he has demonic runes tattooed over his skin. I don't want to get him in trouble.

I admit, I feel terrible confessing that I trusted a spirit over Fyr, but I try not to let that feeling overwhelm me. He doesn't seem to have taken it personally, or so I can tell. The man can be so hard to read.

When I reach the part about the opening of the portal, how I read the demon's words aloud, I think of how I ultimately got those two people killed and so many injured, and I feel a lump form in my throat which forces me to stop there.

Thankfully, Khadgar fills my sudden silence.

"Demons are hateful creatures capable of great destruction. You are fortunate your friends and even you yourself are stronger than you realize, Miss Warner; it sounds to me like the demon's influence was slowly seeping into your mind. That is the only way it could have successfully opened a portal through you, at your will. You did not do that yourself. You were being poisoned. Corrupted, even. I am impressed that an outlander like you was able to fight it without the slightest inkling as to what you were even fighting against."

My eyes widen. "I let him into my mind?"

"On the contrary, it sounds to me like you fought against it for nearly a month. You subconsciously channeled your fear and panic into other outlets, repeatedly draining your energy into, say, teleporting you and your friends all over Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms." He laughs at this. "Though it was unintentional, your instability may have been the sole thing keeping you all safe for as long as it did, with as little damage as it did."

"And the amulet I had?"

"It sounds like it prevented your magic from overwhelming you, but it still, once worn, allowed you to accumulate enough power for the demon to bend through fear into something vile and powerful, while still keeping it controlled until the very end, when you removed it."

"The amulet worked against me..." I drop my eyes in thought.

"It seems so." Then Khadgar glances at his wristwatch and startles. "Oh, I am late yet again!"

He abruptly begins to speak almost too fast for me to keep up.

"Now, then. Would that I could go to Stormwind right now and take care of this nasty business, it would be over with by midnight. But the Council and I have this ordeal regarding the Tomb to deal with, and I have a meeting I really cannot miss taking place in less than ten minutes. So, I am leaving my trusted friend and ally, Archmage Edoril Frostweaver, to assist you in closing the portal in Stormwind. As for your return home, I will send out summons to others I know of from your world. You will be contacted once everyone is collected. Until then, hold tight, close the rift, and get comfortable. We will call on you when we need you next. Good luck!"

I blink at the onslaught of information, both excited at the first true promise of getting home, and somewhat distressed that, as I feared might happen, I am responsible for closing the portal. Yes, I opened it, but I have no idea what I'm doing. And apparently, I had a demon poisoning my mind and helping me. How am I supposed to do it now that I'm just plain old me? Plus, I apparently had a generous amount of time to 'save' my magic. So how long will it take for me to do that again? Or, will I even need to?

My thoughts jump back to the present when Khadgar nods at his friend, gives us a fleeting wave, sweeps out the doorway, and vanishes in a vibrant crackle.

I'm still trying to process everything while the other elf, Edoril, addresses Fyr.

"Aerefyr, what are the chances I'd find you escorting an outlander?" he chuckles, and I glance between them. Fyr smiles back, and I realize they know each other. Of course they do. Of course Fyr knows everybody on the damn planet.

Fyr agrees, "Cannot say I meant to get caught up in something like this, but...hey, gotta keep busy somehow."

Edoril nods and laughs in agreement. "Are you still in the armed hire business?"

"Bounty hunting. And how is your son? I heard rumor of his role in the fights against the Iron Horde years back. I was surprised; the boy had always been so pacific, it was a shock to all who knew him to hear he'd gone military."

"Domestic bliss, now, as far as I'm aware," Edoril smiles. "His war hero days are hopefully behind him."

"Glad to hear the drifter grew roots."

I mostly have no idea what they are talking about. I'm staring at them at this point, still kinda tipsy and feeling the bewilderment at two old friends catching up and sharing small talk while I feel the full weight of duty on my shoulders...and also my bladder.

"So..." I put in when I catch more than two seconds of open silence. "About this portal I'm supposed to close?"

Edoril flicks his strong, glowing stare over to me. I can tell he's so much older than Fyr; I know they're supposed to be immortal, which makes me wonder seriously how old this dude is. He has age lines around his eyes, and his voice is strong yet ancient.

"Yes, the portal! By using Khadgar's written volumes on demonic rifting, I will instruct you on how to close it; because you summoned it, it holds your magical fingerprint. Closing it will be far easier for you than anyone else."

"Don't worry," Fyr nudges me with his elbow, "he knows what he's doing."

"Oh I don't doubt that; I just doubt my usefulness," I frown, unsure whether I'll be able to control my magic when the time comes. "But, I'll do my best."

"That's all we can ask for," Edoril smiles at me. "You're both free to go for the night. Meet me back in front of this building at 8:00 in the morning, and we will return to Stormwind to reverse what you started."

"Thank you," I shake his hand, not sure what else to say. I wish I could have thanked Khadgar as well, but apparently, I'll be seeing more of him, so I haven't missed my chance.

I turn to Fyr once the mage leaves, and look up at him expectantly. Before I can ask him where we're headed, he lifts a brow at me.

"I think Miss Drinky needs to sleep off some of her wine," Fyr hides his expression and scoops up our bags, swinging all of them over one big shoulder easily.

"I'm not 'drinky'," I take his bait and argue as I follow him out the doorway, but immediately hate my timing. My foot catches the silky curtain in the doorway, and I stumble, hopping loudly twice and falling to one knee before I can untangle my leg from the fabric.

Ever the gentleman, Fyr sputters into provoking laughter at me and escapes down the stairs, and I throw angry curses at the curtain, slapping at it for good measure. Then I wordlessly follow the elf into the marble city.

* * *

"You will need to focus and recite this spell within fifty meters of the portal, and it will banish the rift," says Edoril casually, as if explaining how to replace a flat tire or something. "If it were me trying to do this, I'd have to pull out all kinds of transference spells and siphoners, but because you are its sole charge, you have made our lives much easier."

Then he hands me a large potion, like the red healing ones Fyr had given me last month, but almost silvery blue in color.

"Drink this; it will prepare you."

I take it like a shot. I don't feel much of a difference, other than my arms and legs and mind all feel a slight degree more alert. But that might all be in my head. I look around.

I'm standing here next to the remnants of the Blue Recluse inn, staring at a large, shimmering, greyish green tear in the air, trying not to let it intimidate me into losing my nerve. I created this thing. Me. I can get rid of it in the exact same way I made it: just by reading words off a page. It is really that simple. Don't mind the gathering crowd of people behind us, or the fact that heavily-armored guards are swarming the area, all watching me like I could explode any second. For all they know, I'm just another mage trying to help, right? They don't even know what I can or have done, and they still know not to trust me. Still, though, the guards only let us in due to this guy Edoril informing them it was a direct order from the Council of Six. Whatever that is.

I take a deep breath as Edoril lays the giant book out before me, outlining the words I need to recite. They are nothing like the ones I spoke to create the portal. The syllables are smoother, not as 'jagged' feeling, with softer consonants and more long vowels. More 'normal', said simply.

I read it once in my mind to rehearse, and the simple action of doing so awakens the magic in me. It's had a couple of days to recharge with no amulet to control it, and although I've become used to the feeling of constantly having static electricity under my skin, it's still weird to feel it come to life.

It hums in me, awaiting orders. My emotions are controlled enough that I'm still fully in charge here, not the magic. I'm not even afraid I'll launch myself a thousand miles away afterward, because I'll be drained enough from reciting this spell that I won't be capable of that anyway for at least a few more days. Win-win.

I force my mind to stop distracting itself. I have a job to do and people counting on me to do it.

I recite the first line of words quietly, and my magic buzzes at my fingertips, surging up and down my arms and shoulders.

Edoril nods encouragingly at me, and he and Fyr both step away from me. I hear the collective feet of the crowd around us following their lead and backing away from me.

Second line. The magic trails into my feet, then back up into my hands, and doubles in strength.

Third line. I feel it seeping from my fingers outward to the portal, and I mentally will it to find its target, attentively holding my hands out in front of myself to steady it.

Fourth line. It's an invisible barrier that begins to surround the rift on all sides, like a forcefield.

Fifth line. The barrier collapses inward, and somehow in my own way, I understand how it's working. It's suffocating the door. It's cutting it off, disconnecting its signal, snuffing it out. It gives me a feeling of absolute finality.

I put everything I have into that now, draining my energy directly into destroying this thing. I can feel it pushing against me, but I push harder.

The green rift flickers, darkens, blinks, and disintegrates into a grey mist that implodes into itself, receding smaller and smaller until there's nothing there. The crowd behind us gasps and begins to cheer, and a collection of what looks like burly carpenters and masons standing around underneath a large makeshift tent (which wasn't there yesterday) immediately begin to swarm into the area, clearing out rubble and preparing to rebuild. They really don't waste time.

My magic tethers finally break, and suddenly I'm left so drained of energy I feel like my knees will give out. Shit. It's not hard for me to guess what's about to happen next.

Somebody catches me before I hit the ground, but my eyes are so heavy that I can't keep them open.

Rough hands gently pat my cheeks after what feels like a quarter of a second later, and I jolt my eyes open, which feel dry and swollen.

My travel guide's angular, glowing eyes hover twelve inches above mine. "Wakey wakey."

I blink twice. "Stop," I try not to laugh, and shove his chest. "Why'd I pass out? That's kinda embarrassing."

"'Cause you're a newbie," he teases, still sitting over me. "Princess still can't handle the heat."

I realize I'm lying down in the grass, face-up, with him kneeling with his legs on either side of me and his head blocking the sun out of my eyes. Flower petals from the apple trees around us float lazily in the air, and one of them collects into Fyr's vibrant amethyst locks.

I gather my bearings and look away.

"Get off me, you oaf," I push at his unsettlingly-muscular thigh, and he frees me like I requested.

"You would be right there in her place had you performed that spell," Edoril defends me to Fyr, and I send him a grateful sigh.

"Thank you, finally someone's on my side," I shoot Fyr a side-eye while standing upright, and then I survey the area.

The portal is indeed gone. I'm both shocked and delighted that everything went as smoothly as it did; after every flop I've experienced since arriving here, this is a nice change of pace. It gives me hope for the future, rather than despair after what has happened. These mages know what they're talking about, and they just proved it through me and the fact that all I had to do was recite a spell they gave me, and it fixed my mistakes.

Well...not all of them. I can't bring those people back to their families. I wonder if this is in any way close to the guilt Fyr felt when he was young.

I don't realize my expression has darkened until Edoril alerts me.

"I would like to continue your magical education while we await Khadgar's contacts. Would you?"

"What, you mean training? Mage training?"

"It might at least give you some sort of outlet, some way to feel more in control. And I would also like to study deeper into why you are capable of such a vast magical capacity without...well, without disintegrating, to put it bluntly. As far as Khadgar was aware, anyone who crossed over here from Earth prior to you was nonmagical; they simply were in the wrong place at the wrong time and ended up here."

"No one before me even used magic to get here?"

"They did, but it wasn't their own. Typically, it happens in a wormhole anomaly: An unlicensed or careless mage here in Azeroth might accidentally tear a hole between the two dimensions, and someone can fall through one way or the other. Of course, it's not like it happens a lot around here. As far as Khadgar is aware, only three times in his lifetime has he encountered someone from Earth. You, now being the fourth." Edoril smiles as if to laugh at himself, "But back on our original topic lest I spew an entire manuscript at you in the middle of the square: would you be interested in training?"

"Yes," I blurt without even having to think about it. Considering how I felt when in better control of my magic, I know it's something I need for the sake of my own sanity. There aren't proper words to describe how great that security felt after so long of feeling vulnerable.

Beside me, Fyr doesn't look as enthused as I do about this, but he doesn't interject.

Edoril is visibly pleased. "We will study in Dalaran; I have all my tomes there, ranging from simple to complex. You and Aerefyr both may stay as long as you'd like in my guest suite. Separate bedrooms, plumbing, food, anything you need can be addressed."

I stare at him slack-jawed. "Wh-"

"Thank you," Fyr interrupts my questioning and shakes Edoril's hand, "That's incredibly generous."

I like how Fyr accepts gifts without question, like he knows a good deal when he sees one, but I'm still sitting here shocked that we were even offered such a thing by someone we don't know. Or, well, someone whom I don't know. I guess Fyr's lack of surprise at Edoril's kindness is a compliment to the guy.

"Bah, the suite is collecting dust. Ava's education will be a welcome project, considering everything my colleagues and I have been up against this past year. 'Twill be nice to have a proper hobby. And as for you two, you look like you need a steady roof and a change of clothing."

I don't mind being called someone's hobby, I decide, when he's a polite, helpful man who only wants to fix my problems and keep his mind busy.

"Thank you so much," I force the words out amidst my thoughts, as well as the remainder of shock that he'd just offered to house and feed us both.

Edoril nods happily and sets off back toward the Dalaran portal. As we fall in line behind the mage, I give Fyr a look that reads, _Who_ is _this guy?_

Fyr just offers me a knowing smirk and walks on.

* * *

Seven days fly by in a whirl of studying.

…Well, studying, with a side of my lower abdomen trying to kill me. Mother nature paid me a visit the day after we settled into the suite, which threw me entirely off-guard. I'd completely forgotten that entire aspect of being a female, and it was stupid of me to brush it aside, as if being on a different planet changes the laws of nature. Not to mention, I am fairly sure it came late, and I didn't even realize it; the last thing I'd have needed to bring back to Earth was a mini-James from a one-time mistake. Fortunately for me, the maid who works here was kind enough to help me address the issue discreetly. Apparently, the women of Dalaran prefer enchanted self-cleansing liners, something I couldn't have imagined up in my wildest dreams. But once I'd managed to purchase a set of three of them from the nearby tailor shop, I knew they were heading back home with me. They weren't cheap, but after having used them for the whole week, I understand now that they are very worth every silver.

As for the studying, I find that I'm more excited every day to learn new tricks and spells, waking earlier and earlier every day, until today, I'm up before Edoril himself and am now waiting in his study, poring over the tome we started yesterday about conjuring and freezing water.

A large mug of the Zandal roast coffee Fyr bought for me rests on the desk beside me, its hot, lazy vapors filling the warmly-lit room with its rich aroma. I sit in a comfortable armchair, cross-legged and slightly sideways.

Edoril hasn't yet taught me any offensive or defensive spells; he's on the contrary been helping me to control my magic, understand it, and has given me little incantations that help separate my magic from my emotions. On the first day, he ran 'tests' on my magic to understand its potency, and confirmed that it was stronger than anyone's he'd encountered before - or, at least, anyone untrained. So most of this week has been me learning to control myself, as well as little manipulations of matter like starting a small campfire, and putting it out with frost. Edoril says that any training at all will help me prepare for what's ahead, considering we don't yet know how much magic will be required for me to return home.

Just the fact that he says it's possible at all is enough to lift my spirits higher than ever.

He also tells me that telekinesis is within the abilities of most mages and that we might work up to it, which really excites me. I'll feel like a bona fide Harry Potter witch by the time we're done with this.

I've just begun reading a paragraph about the dangers of mixing hyperhumidity and frost magic when the heavy door of Edoril's study creaks open, letting in a draft of cool air that unsettles dust on a stack of books beside the doorway.

Expecting Edoril, I'm surprised to see Fyr slip through the entry and let the door close behind him.

"You're up early," he folds his hands behind his back and walks casually toward me, observing the various open books strewn about with mild interest. His boots thud softly against the thin rug underneath them.

"I could say the same for you," I take a sip of coffee. "What's up?"

"Just wanted to see how you're faring. You're out all hours of the day, it's a wonder I see you for the five minutes I do in the evenings before you disappear into your room with an armful of books," he says this conversationally, but it makes me laugh.

"Lonely, are we?" I say, setting the book aside and sitting back in my armchair, crossing my legs as I hold my coffee under my nose to hide my smile.

He bites the inside of his cheek to avoid smiling at this and peers at the book I was just reading, coming to lean his narrow hips against the desk beside me. He's so tall though, it's more like he's sitting on it.

"Frost, huh?"

"He's teaching me how to subdue my excess magic in the form of frozen barriers and armor. It requires a constant upkeep, but it's not as volatile or explosive as heat energy or arcane."

Fyr looks impressed. "I never would have thought of that."

I take another sip of my coffee, watching Fyr. He still hasn't made direct eye contact with me and is currently fidgeting with the page on the book, way too focused on it and yet not at all, as if he's got something he wants to say and isn't saying it.

A few seconds tick past quietly, and I continue watching him, letting my smirk grow and bobbing one foot habitually.

"Have you come here to be a very large, in-the-way statue, or is there something you need?"

He finally flicks his eyes to mine.

"No, I came to ask you something."

I sip my coffee again expectantly.

He straightens up, folding his arms again.

"Four days ago, I accepted a fairly expensive contract to find a missing person, and I think I may have tracked her down. But it'll be somewhat of a trip; she's in Highmountain."

I'm about to confess that I don't know where that is, but he keeps going after two seconds of pause.

"So, I know that you're devoted to your training, and I know that this is somewhat futile of me to ask, but would you...perhaps...be interested in coming with me?"

He exhales, like holding that question in was far too difficult.

It's everything in my power not to grin at him. This four-century-old elf just reminded me of a high school boy asking a girl to a dance. Minus the romance and the flowers and the overall feelings of teenage frustration.

He then starts speaking very quickly when I don't immediately answer.

"It may take a couple weeks, but we can bring your tomes, and I would be happy to provide help and suggestions where you need them. I just think that it might be an experience you wouldn't want to pass up, considering you may never have the chance again. It'd also be a good way to pass the time while Khadgar works to put everything in order. And," he puts in last, speaking a degree quieter, almost a mumble, "your company isn't the worst in the world."

I set my coffee aside, now unable to stifle a tiny smile. "So I'd be coming with you on a real job?"

"It's not dangerous; the woman I'm tracking went missing from the city ten days ago, but all my sources have directed me to Nesingwary's camp in the north. Which," he adds in, understanding how lost I am, "is about two hours away if we ride by gryphon."

Gryphons. I know what those are, now. James explained it to me on the journey through the Wetlands: they're half-lion, half-eagle beasts trained to carry great weights, including people, over vast distances. The next time I see one descending from the sky, I'll do my best not to panic and teleport Fyr and myself into a snowy wasteland.

I glance around me at the books, comfy chairs, coffee, and candles, then back at Fyr.

"It's too bad we can't take all these nice things with us when we go," I comment as I stand up from the armchair.

Fyr sends me an approving look. "Unfortunately, you're correct. But I can bring the coffee."

"At least you have your priorities straight," I pat his arm teasingly and reach around him to grab the tome I was reading. "Is Edoril aware that you plan to whisk me away?"

"Yes, I spoke with him before I came to you."

"He's awake?"

"Mhm."

"Guess I should pack?"

"Absolutely," he says high-spiritedly and steps aside, letting me pass.

* * *

I know that the last time I saw a gryphon, I overreacted. But that is absolutely not to say that they are non-threatening creatures. They're easily the biggest beasts I've ever seen in person, and their calculating golden bird-eyed stare is terrifying to catch, considering that a beak that size could snap my forearm in two. I have to put nearly all of my focus into maintaining an invisible frost barrier charm in order to keep my magic under control; we certainly wouldn't profit from teleporting randomly right now.

Fyr and I are standing off to the side of a large, circular stone landing that reminds me of a helipad, though three times larger, and much more decorated. Beside us are stable hands who work quickly to saddle and prepare our gryphon, a tawny and white-colored monstrous half-eagle, half-lion beast that seems better-trained than any animal I've ever encountered. The stable hand tells it to lift a front leg in order to loop part of the harness, and it does so without hesitation. This obedience might be the only thing keeping me as calm as I am.

The obedience, plus Fyr's calm presence beside me.

What he said last week about things changing without the demon around was more right than I could have realized at the time. I went from always being on my guard around him to feeling a sense of peace or safety with his familiar and constant presence. Just knowing that there's a seven-foot-tall bodyguard no more than ten feet from me at all times is a comfort, as it would be to anyone.

Once the stable hands have finished, they give Fyr the reins. He takes my shoulder bag, lent to me by Edoril, and straps it snugly into a set of iron hooks by the rear of the saddle. Then he does the same on the other side with his own tattered bag, and climbs into the seat. I tentatively climb on behind him, sinking down snugly into the leather. It's far more comfortable than when I rode the horse with James; the back of this saddle has a little more support, like it's made for long rides. The only downside is the huge feathers pricking my legs, as the creature's wings are folded hard against its side, and the huge wing feathers are almost as stiff as plastic.

Fyr then pulls two cords from each side of the saddle where my legs are resting and essentially straps me into the seat by the thighs.

"For turbulence," he explains calmly, and then leans forward, "You'll want to hold onto either my belt or around my waist. The air current behind you will be like a vacuum as we pick up speed, so hold on tight."

I can feel my heartbeat in my ears. The gryphon is antsy to get going, and I have no idea what to expect. I can't see anything but clouds around us, so we must be incredibly high up. And somehow, this animal is going to carry us through the air for two hours.

I'm not prepared for what happens next.

The gryphon lurches forward, and I grip my hands in tightly at the loops on either side of Fyr's belt, leaning in close to where I'm nearly pressing my head against his back. Wind whips on either side of us as the animal picks up speed alarmingly fast, its legs pounding against the stone landing, and then, suddenly, we're falling.

I feel as if my heart has simultaneously leapt into my throat and also fallen out my toes.

I can't help but let out a cry of surprise as my whole body feels instantly weightless. My thighs pull at the straps; if not for them, I'd have floated straight off. Fyr's gripping the gryphon's sides with his knees and holding onto stirrups, which keeps him snugly in the saddle. I scrunch my eyes shut and cling my arms around Fyr's stomach with everything I have, trying my hardest to take slower breaths.

Then, as suddenly as it left, gravity returns, and the bird has leveled out.

Thanks to the wind, I receive a face-full of Fyr's ponytail, which whips over my eyes and blurs my sight. But what little I can see, as I open my eyes and attempt to peer back at the city we just left, is astonishing.

Dalaran City is not, as I assumed, attached to a mountain. We're miles, at least, above a vast stretch of blue ocean, and off in the distance, fractured islands rise out of the water like beacons. Fluffy white clouds drift lazily beneath the floating city, and morning sunlight ignites everything in the sky in warm pink and yellow, including us.

I tighten my grip around Fyr's abdomen and take a deep breath.

Nothing in this world is normal. Not the city we just 'fell off of', nor the creature we're riding, nor the man whose waist I have enclosed in a death grip in my arms. A small part of me feels a streak of appreciation for this, but I stamp it out quickly. I really can't afford to get attached to this place.

Or its people.

For the first time since arriving here, and with a jolt of shock to boot, I feel a pang of impending regret in going home. The mixed emotions are intense enough for me to nearly forget the fact that I'm currently passing through a cloud miles above an ocean, kept safe by nothing but straps on my legs and a very large man acting as my anchor.

Am I truly so attached to this person in front of me that the idea of going back home, back to everything I know and love, has been tainted by the idea of leaving him?

Or, perhaps, is this an odd form of Stockholm Syndrome, where I learn to love the place that's imprisoned me, and by extension its people?

I can't let that happen. I have a family back home. An entire life left in the dust. I wonder what my absence is doing to the people who care about me. I wonder if they think I am dead. The idea makes a knot tighten in my chest.

And I wonder if, when I get home, I'll realize too late that I miss this place as much as I miss Earth.

I inhale the clean, cold high-altitude air and dare to look down again. We're soaring at frightening speeds, slowly descending toward the closely-packed, mountainous islands that peek above the vast expanse of crystal blue ocean.

The wind whips my face and eyes if I peer too far past Fyr, so I use him as my shield against the elements and press the side of my face to his back, turned away from what is now a vivid morning sun shining directly onto us and the rest of the world.

We fly on for what feels like ages. The creature we're riding seems to have barely put in effort the whole time, resorting to coasting slowly toward land by gliding his great wings and allowing gravity to pull its own weight, so to say.

Before I know it, we've crossed the threshold between sea and land, and now, as we pass over an abrupt forest of red, pink, orange and golden trees, we are but half a mile above them. In comparison to the vast altitude of the floating city, I almost feel like I could reach down and touch the tops of the trees. But I don't have half-mile arms, so that idea is shot down.

Far off in the distance ahead, obscured by atmosphere and clouds, I see a great shadow of a mountain stretching far above the colorful forest, and I quickly deduce that that's exactly where we are headed.

"That's Highmountain?" I have to shout.

"Yes," Fyr's deep voice is nearly lost in the wind.

I decide not to try to further the conversation, simply because I know that most of it will likely consist of me shouting, 'What?' every ten seconds.

Sure enough, after about thirty minutes of us speeding along above the treetops, the gryphon begins its ascent, and I can tell that this is where the real challenge begins for the animal. It beats its wings with incredible force, launching us upward with jolted movements as it begins to circle up what's almost a perfectly vertical cliffside. Scarcely even trees can find outcroppings large enough to grow here, but at one point I am shocked to see a small ledge attached to a cave with manmade torches lining the entrance. Where this cave leads, I have no idea, but the ledge leading to it can't be more than three feet wide, with no safety.

But we pass the cave without slowing, and I secure my grip around Fyr for good measure.

I want to adjust my seating position and stretch my legs more than anything by the time we finally round the top of the mountain, which I'm surprised to see is not so much of a peak, but a plateau. Before us stretches an expanse of fir trees and rushing rivers, occasional snowy peaks rising up off in the distance in all directions. Our mount drifts effortlessly over miles and miles of this until finally slowing and circling down into a clearing amidst pines, next to a steep mountainside.

I'm glad Fyr told me to dress in layers. My hands feel stiff with cold, and my cheeks are most definitely red from wind burn, but the rest of me has survived the trip well enough.

Our gryphon thunders to a rough landing near the edge of what I now see is an encampment of mostly dwarves.

I'm helped off by a stout woman with a braid as long as she is tall, and she helps me grab my bag from the snug hooks on the gryphon's saddle as Fyr does the same on its other side. Stable hands immediately set to feeding and watering the spent animal and removing the saddle, and I try to walk on wobbly legs after Fyr, who apparently has his destination in mind because he walks with purpose toward a large tan tent in the center.

As he walks, he retrieves a water skin and hands it back to me with a knowing smile, and I set to rehydrating as he seeks out and begins questioning a busy-looking dwarf with a thick golden beard. Fyr asks if he's seen a human woman with raven hair, and he offers a small black and white picture of her for reference. I'm shocked to see what looks like a polaroid in Fyr's hand. Do they have cameras here?

The dwarf nods, but says she left the camp early this morning. He also gives me a funny look, glancing between me and the photo.

"You humans all look the same. If I weren't payin' attention, I'd think she was you."

Fyr thanks him and moves on.

I myself am surprised at how quickly Fyr has centered in on this person, who has apparently been missing from Dalaran for a good while. I wonder how much effort Fyr had to put into finding her whereabouts in the past week before coming to this point. While I was learning how to manipulate ice, Fyr was definitely researching.

Fyr pushes further, asking more and more people what they know of her plans, if she told anyone where she'd be, what she'd be doing, etcetera. But just when I'm fairly sure he's about to resign to the idea of setting up camp here and waiting her out, a very large bull-man (Fyr tells me they're called Tauren) with great antlers like a moose reveals that this woman, whose name I've learned now is 'Amanda', left to harvest a rare, medicinal fungus from the nearby caves.

Fyr's renewed energy boosts my own, and I find myself excited as he and I head out of town. I struggle to keep up with him.

"Do you...know...the area?" I ask in bursts, panting, as at this point I'm nearly jogging.

He slows just barely. Sometimes I feel bad for making him walk so slowly, but a much more important part of me appreciates the relief it gives to my poor shorter legs.

"Yes, I was here only eight months ago. I think I may know just the cave she's exploring. It's not far."

I don't ask any more questions. At one point, we reach a narrow, fast-moving river, and Fyr manages to walk across a tactfully-placed fallen tree with the grace of a cat. I take twice as long, more than once nearly slipping and falling into the white, frothy water churning below.

But that's the only excitement in the whole trip. Just pine trees, pine needles, more trees, and more needles. I don't see a single animal or hear anything aside from birds twittering in the trees.

We walk along the tree-lined slope of a mountain for nearly fifteen minutes until we come across the open mouth of what is apparently the cave we are looking for. Fyr stops me in my tracks, though, and holds an index finger to his lips.

Footsteps are approaching from within the cave; one pair, if I'm not mistaken. They're light, but noticeable, and I subconsciously shrink behind Fyr.

Apparently, Fyr sees the person before me, because I see his whole body tense and his hand immediately fall to the knife at his belt. I hold my breath.

Suddenly he sweeps forward, drawing his knife and catching the person off guard right at the cave exit. He grabs a tall, slender figure and pins her to the cave wall, holding the knife to her throat.

She's an elf. But she's slighter, skinnier, and "pointier" than any of the night elves I encountered so far. Her eyes gleam green, the likes of which I have only ever seen come from the demon portal I created last week. Her ears point skyward. Her skin is pallid, almost ghostly, and her hair falls over her shoulders in thick, deep black waves.

Fyr's voice is a quiet growl. "Cooperate, Horde, and I will set you free. We are searching for someone. Have you seen this person?"

I'm beyond shocked at his treatment of this woman, and for a second I don't notice him beckoning me to grab the photo from his pocket to show her. Clearly, he doesn't want to loosen his grip even a smidgen.

Glaring at him, I grab the photo forcefully and hold it up to her.

"Is this seriously necessary?!" I hiss at him.

The poor elf woman looks more surprised than anything, and wary of the eight inch blade at her neck. But her eyes flick to the photo, and to my own surprise, what looks like recognition flits across her features. Then she douses it with a look of nonchalance.

"Yes, she was just in there," she jerks her head toward the depths of the cave. "And no, I did not hurt her. Now, if you would please remove your knife, I have no quarrel with the Alliance."

Fyr stays there for longer than this woman or I prefer, studying her look of annoyance, and finally seems to decide that that's all it is—annoyance—and slackens, sheathing his knife.

As soon as he takes a step back, we all hear a muffled, animal-like growl sound from deeper within the cavern, and Fyr stiffens yet again. The elf woman stares off into it, looking alarmed.

Fyr obviously reads this growl as a threat, because out comes his knife again, and without warning me, he plunges into the dark after it.

I share a hesitant glance with the woman, but she cuts it short by hiking her bag over her shoulder - the action catching my eye as an item inside it glows through the fabric - and making to leave before Fyr can return. I don't blame her; he wasn't exactly polite.

Nervously, I shuffle after Fyr. The walls of the cave are narrow and wind around a large arc, but finally open up to an irregular, circular center. I freeze when I see what it holds.

Fyr seems to have frozen as well, hiding himself behind an outcrop of stone and peering past it. Across the room is not, as I'd hoped to see, Amanda, but rather an oversized, angry bald green man wrenching himself free of ropes around his hands and feet. Around him are items one would expect to see in an overnight campsite. Bedroll, bags, charred campfire remnants, and a small iron cooking pot.

I realize I'm exposed a half second too late.

The creature, which I deduce from having heard about them is an orc, whips his intense yellow eyes directly to me, and with that glare comes a fury I'm painfully unprepared for.

In the corner of my eye I see Fyr's panicked (or, frustrated?) movement to yank me out of sight, but the second the ropes fall from the orc's wrists, he gives a roar, scoops up a rusted axe I previously hadn't noticed, and lunges at me.

I feel my frost shield intensify as I stumble backward, holding my hands up and doing my best to dodge as the dude's axe crashes down against an invisible barrier that knocks both him and me away from each other—me, flat on my back, and him, stumbling backward four steps and dropping his weapon. It's enough to confuse him just long enough for Fyr to attack.

I have never seen Fyr so frightening. Not even in the nightmares I had, nor the images of him that crept into my mind, nor even when he fought the bandits in Feralas. He also seems to have forgotten that he owns a knife. His clawed hands crunch against the orc's nose one after the other, and the orc gives a howl of pain and rage. His pain only seems to fuel him, and he turns on Fyr; they are now two furious, gigantic men clashing in a brutal and primal fight.

They grapple and hit, bite, and kick, and finally Fyr manages to throw the orc against the rock wall of the cave, colliding the green man's face with rough, jagged stone.

The orc bleeds profusely from his nose and upper lip, now forced to go on the defensive as Fyr's relentless swipes of clawed hands slice his tough skin. Fyr has longer arms and is quite taller, and he bears down on the green man with a clear upper hand. Despite the orc's bulk, he doesn't seem as skilled in fighting itself. This goes directly against what I have heard of his type, but I'm not disappointed by any means.

Then I notice before Fyr that the orc, who dropped his axe, has inched ever closer to it and is half a second from taking it up.

I lunge forward from where I've flattened myself against a far wall, slamming one hand against the stone floor without contemplating what I'm doing. The floor freezes under my hand, and almost instantaneously, the ice crystals spread across the ground, straight to the orc's feet. Before he knows it, everywhere from his knees down has suddenly been encased in ice with a loud 'crack'. The shards continue to grow up his legs, creeping along his trousers higher and higher until they're nearly to his waist, and still rising, yet much slower now. Part of me worries they'll freeze him to death, but one look at the fiery glare in his eyes, and I get the feeling that's impossible.

Fyr staggers back from the orc, blood trickling from a corner of his lip. His long left ear has teeth marks in it, and his shirt is torn. He glances at me, panting, and raises his brows with a clear look of admiration.

The orc, incensed, flexes his fists and gives a bellowing roar and swipes at Fyr, then begins attempting to escape the ten inch thick sheet of ice pinning him to the floor. Fyr, just out of reach, lets out a derisive laugh and ignores him, instead walking to me and gently helping me up off the floor.

"Are you alright? You hit the ground pretty hard."

My eyes travel to his many injuries, but I just nod. "I'm fine. What the bloody hell was that? Why did he attack us?"

Fyr gives me a straightforward look, momentarily surprised I even had to ask before evidently remembering I'm an alien. "He's a member of the Horde, and this is a contested territory. You became his target simply because of the fact that you're a human."

An unexpected voice grunts loudly from the orc. "I didn't attack you boar-brained fools because of your race; she stole something from me!" He points a huge finger at me.

"Excuse me?" I gawk at him.

Fyr looks just as surprised as me, but not for the same reason. It's like he didn't expect the orc to speak at all.

"The bitch snuck upon my camp, stole my valuables, tied me up, left for five minutes, and waltzed right back in here like she'd done nothing." He's not speaking to me, but to Fyr, and I'm miffed that he won't even address me, let alone speak as if I'm in the room.

"I'll have you know that I've never been here before," I retort.

Fyr makes a connection that I don't, and he steps toward the orc.

"You saw a human woman in here?"

"Are you touched in the head?" The orc strains against the ice but doesn't budge, "I told you it was her!" Again, he points at me. "She took all my wares, including an enchanted orb that could have fetched a fortune! Look in her bag."

I open my mouth to snap back, but Fyr talks first.

"What exactly does the orb do?" He looks like he's putting pieces of a puzzle together, but I'm still disconcerted by the unwavering glare I'm getting from this large hulk-like man.

The orc looks like he's about to explode. "LOOK IN HER BAG!" He bellows, getting angrier by the second. "You'll find that Sin'dorei orb; she used it right before she left, so it's still glowing!"

"It wasn't me!" I yell back at him, surprising myself with the ferocity in my own voice. "You're confused! We just got here; we're looking for someone about my age, with long, dark hair, about my size, and..." I trail off, feeling exceptionally slow for only just now catching on.

"I look like her." I peer at Fyr. "Amanda took his things?"

"Not just that, but I bullied her on our way in here. She disguised herself as an elf by using the orb she stole from him."

Finally, everything clicks together. Even the orc, for the first time, looks slightly puzzled through his fury, like he's retracting his accusations.

"If we go after her now, we might find her," I say. I have no hesitation at this point in believing that someone could change her appearance magically.

"Perhaps, but if she is using a disguise, it likely means that she isn't keen on being found, let alone returned home. This may have been a fool's quest. She doesn't want to return to her husband; that much is evident now. So, the job is likely moot."

"Fuck that, I need to find her," spits the orc. "I am a merchant, and she has stolen some of my most valuable items." He gives Fyr a shrewd look. "I will pay double what her husband offered you for their return."

Fyr folds his arms, staring at the orc contemplatively. I, on the other hand, regard them with a dumbfounded, open-mouthed stare. These boys were literally at each other's throats only minutes ago, and now they're talking business.

"Merchant? That explains your ineptitude in combat," Fyr shoots, and both the orc and I glance at the many cuts and bruises littering the night elf's face but say nothing. Then Fyr glances at me, apparently thinking hard, and sighs.

"Where would I find you," he asks the orc, "if I did manage to acquire the items she took?"

"Thunder Totem. I will remain there while restocking wares and attempting to recover from this," he glances around him with a grimace, "this...setback."

"Then this is farewell, for now."

The orc panics when Fyr turns around to walk away.

"You must set me free!" He calls frantically.

"I'm afraid that does not fall under my line of abilities." Fyr pauses and turns, "That is between you and her, and I believe you're in line to apologize to the lady."

The orc is practically spitting at this, but he does glare at me. I hold my stare, despite how disconcerted I feel under such an extreme gaze. Most of my thoughts are distracted by Fyr; nothing like having a dude force another dude to be nice to me to really get my cheeks blushing.

"My apologies," he grits out, and I glance at Fyr unsteadily. Do I really want to set this angry hulk man free?

But then, I get an idea. I approach him carefully and kick some of the half charred logs from his fire pit near him. I step back, focus intently on the logs for a moment, and then a tiny flicker of flame ignites at the corner. That way his frozen legs will melt slowly.

I offer the orc a meek smile, back away quickly, and take my place beside Fyr. He's unable to quell a quiet chuckle as the two of us escape the cave.

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Thanks for your patience! Yours truly moved to a new house with no internet for too long. But all is back to normal. Woo!_

 _Review 1: Sionnach 'Foxy' Lightfoot - Thank you for the compliments! That encouragement is fuel, I swear. And I'm glad you appreciate Fyr's story; that one took me a while to decide on._

 _Review 2: Guest - You write perfectly fine! And thank you :)_

 _Review 3: Bohmzawe - MWAHAHA. Oh dear, maybe I am a demon!_

 _Review 4: Sera - Thank you, too! :)_

 _Review 5: Guest - Haha! Thank you very much. I do my best. I'm glad you're enjoying it!_


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